For A.G.
The fire called the shadows in
They rushed to occupy every perimeter
Crowded the mantelpiece, jostled with sharp elbows
Tore up the carpets and hung heavily from the curtains
Whispered their love songs with hoarse and gentle tongues
Scattered in terror at the weft of the flame as it buckled and coiled
Wickered in fear at the ravens that plunged amongst them
Wept and were livid in the pools of their time
Were mighty and weak and triumphantly willing
Were giant and glorious weaklings who laughed incandescent promises at naked tomorrow
Spread their legs to let the light in, opened every eye to the heat
Tore their hearts mercilessly asunder, sacrificially pledged
They don’t care for the fingers in your ears, the closed gates in your brain or your control throttle
For they gathered only to deliver one message
This bull-black squad shrilling out, shrilling out:
For you that ate the moon whole
Spat full chords with rhythm deft
Planted precision and let it grow up your legs to encircle your throat
High notes, spherical music of distant intention gasped
Suspended lines of expectation, all your sincere whispers
Long fingers strike the lightest of touches
To upturned faces silverlit, eyeballs luminescent
Willing into being by webs of promises
New meanings in old voices, old meanings in new voices
Weavers of this arpeggio of livid stars, nexus of cares
This maze of dreams that belong to maybe
Soft gradations in the first rays, subtle turning, movement asking
Saudade; all this mess of tangled yearning
Dawn sweeps the shadows up, smothers the embers in light
The painting above is a crop of Rembrandt’s Philosopher in Meditation (or Interior with Tobit and Anna).
