smakkabagms:

sad, dimensionless dream

mirror black, mirror night

mindless fish tread their 
sepal dragonscales
over swathes of water’s
membrane

I am
hunted again

not daring
to breathe

rivered here nor there my ghost
hands star-touched and eternal

with a childhood’s loneliness I 
scatter like so many 
    moths solitary blue
  & bewinged

remembering not so much of the furrow
but that yellow-coffin silence
like so much wheat lost and
rotting to war-gnawed fields

no, blanched bone
I have been soured by arrows

the stir of uncoiling sea-beasts
that clamor with cloven black feet
towards uncertain land

that was my own, once

before the bog-eyed kelpie 
maimed the sugared soul
and kept its tiny 
  shattered pieces  
belonging to shadow

language which sends ravens

through the wild fir: I cannot afford
your indifference

the cool touch
of your slack hand like
death in the earthen branches

like a lover I slip from the moon’s
cerement, I become instrument

figurative as wind, or roan wood-dreams
that are at once held and forgotten

can I or will I? unfix such
wounds again, my final belongings

the unendurable strangeness of
looking upon an earth too changed
and shaped by his hands bloodied
with violation

I will make it mine again, or let it
be nothing

so long as waking begets its own
monstrous silver, eos, as my own
garden
estranged

this is survival, and nothing more

the tending of this thin and dire thread
to which my whole life
now belongs

it no longer matters what these fields
had been but that they are, as I am

sundered open, emptied like the flesh beneath
the wicked hooks of a dawn-hot sun

whatever else it is
I cannot bear to say any more