This poisoned morning: dark gray shades that shift
one to the other, and the doorway’s flesh
begins to soften with the acid wash
of sunlights our unfocused eyes can’t bear;we run down blackened streets, we try to flee
serrated knives of light, the glaring dawn,
turn sharpened corners, freeze to watch the change
in space, rectangles folding back from night –but if I thought your darkened eyes would try
to link with mine, I’d fight this twilight edge,
I’d chant the sun awake, I’d fight a war
to bring your dazzling, golden shadow home.Like desperate brides who stalk the streets at night,
we’re searching, searching, clutching dead bouquets.
[Los Angeles, 2/13-16/91]
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