Spring 1992 • Vol. XIV No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 1992 |

Book of Routh

Whither thou goest . . .   I learn to live by guile, to do without love. I'm not scared. I wait in the dark for you, Sleeping to avoid death, tired of sleep.   The withered dyed rug fades, dims, fades, recolors,   Warp frayed, weft unraveled; as light looms dark, I doubt I'm happy as can be in this house.   Outside no one would guess inside this house I learn to live by guise, disguise my pain. Love Dinner served by pyre light, sit doused by dark,   Cornered in my room, wait in the dark for you.   The bureau melts to shadow; that unraveled, uncolors. Sleep to avoid death, tired of sleep,   I avoid the mirror, the lie of truth. You sleep Downstairs, chin lobbed over, chair rocked, spilled, house Distilled in techtonic dreams of technicolor,   Mostly golf course green and Triumph blue. I love   Earthpots, cattails, a fireplace, no reflection of you. While you sleep, I sip steeped ceremonial teas, dark   As coffee, your swirled wi

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