Roof of the World

Poems from Here and Now, There and Then

At this hour

At this very moment

I will live inside myself,

In a wind swept pavilion

That is my heart, moulded

By a chrome yellow

Sun in a sky drunk on

Liquid lapis

At the roof of the world.

Far below, clouds

Scatter themselves like

Swirling princesses in

White organza.

Underneath, a hawk

Chases sparrows in a blurred

Black zig zag, and a boy

Flies a kite on which

Sits his mother’s dreamwater.

It melts on frozen green awnings

Drips onto hydrangeas

The color of pink bismuth,

washes rose-brushed dreams

Into knotted roots,

Muscles that know

Little rest.

But then, who rests?

Not the boy flying

His red kite, nor a hawk

Screeching on high.

Not clouds that forever

Pour themselves

Into dry lips,

Not a madman who

Would own the earth.

A woman who counts

Her laughter

On an abacus of love beads

Knows little else.

Questions that are fists

Like rams’ heads

Furiously collide

In a world full of silent requests.

At this hour,

At this moment

I will live inside myself.

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