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Restoration the brothers made lovely lamps of hammered iron and cut mineral glass that shone yellow with blue flames licking each busted edgewise facet—a kind of beauty that only a Bonaparte would have endured crepes
at noone pink bulbs jutting out were shrimp done up as butterflies then quick steamed instead of fried so unlike the Pakistani dive in Kensington where Mr. Scampi endorsed breaded shrimp for odd some raison —4 pounds eight the lot
Seanchaithe the summer days when it would rain lightly I would read in my bed with the window open and let the rainy breeze blow over my face I could hear my neighbors arguing in their kitchen the squirrels, in the trees the birds, beneath the eaves night
came my friends and I would hunt lightning bugs and load glass jars with their flickers
Gwee maybe your kin’s from here twiddling in the turf bathing in the bay years passed then you were born in a squat by the road to Mayo still longer and you passed after your husband smashed his head against a train wheel near Ottawa—by accident of course then your children were brought up by your brother’s wife somewhere near Pottstown thousands of miles from seal who could hunt you drunk and carry you away barking mad like all the rest of us—twilight shorn singing ourselves ashore
Without Form my cousin tells me about his first carpenter job where he and his buddy build forms while the master looks it all over then motions for the crane to empty a bucketful of concrete that breaks over and pours out and free into Baltimore harbor —the master still as a pillar ruined face
streaked my cousin and his buddy drop into the caisson with their shovels and set to while the master gets plastered at a crab house
Dolor to me the tomb rises not bitterly from the soon to be but nearer than one wants to see— the lark in the dawning leaves to love its song early even the kingfishers lose their chops when leaves begin to fall— or as the nuns said “souls falling into hell like leaves stripped from trees and scattered floating downward fluttering from God’s grasp” like punched tickets— or confetti shimmering after an election’s won
Poem deep
in the interior (where
deepness has no ill effects) let
us love as lovers will simply
to refrain from still ness
less to avoid the shrillness lovers
married thus will endure likely
as friends mostly as purely indifferent
though always loving :
cards at Christmas :
cards at Easter birthdays
forgotten since
age devours beauty and
beauty endures love leaf
by leaf and
drop by drop let
lingering caresses cease and
kisses lie languidly on
lips lazy
so lazy we
leave cares to lounge and
lie
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Thoughts on Pattern Recognition by William GibsonOneTwo Three Four Five Six
cantosIII III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII
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