Spring 1983 • Vol. V No. 2 Five Poems |

Fractures

tacitae per amica silentia lunae VIRGIL I Tacit night. This truth is not more friendly than moon-struck silence: I am traced and ghosted by a face I have never seen in flesh. Sweet apple of my blind eye: your beginning was in dreams, the crazy rucking of hot sheets, my mouth, woken, brimmed at her full breasts. O filia! The words' mischief bursts through the branks I tighten to appease. I make daring pictures with air, elegies pitched to chime with despair that sounds like the tearing in two of love. Lord, lighten us. Please. I see my sons grow up into their summers, taller than I now in the sunshine, but I keep watch for a small moon that's gone absent from our system, watch for impossible signs in young girls who pour my Milky Way on clear nights in a bright cascade. Sometimes my love, asleep beside me, stirs and thrusts her arm across as if to hold me from the edge of that most particular dream where you turn into the light before me without a face for

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