if there are any heavens my mother will(all by herself)have
one. It will not be a pansy heaven nor
a fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-valley but
it will be a heaven of blackred roses
my father will be(deep like a rose
tall like a rose)
standing near my
(swaying over her
silent)
with eyes which are really petals and see
nothing with the face of a poet really which
is a flower and not a face with
hands
which whisper
This is my beloved my
(suddenly in sunlight
he will bow,
& the whole garden will bow)
EEC
In the garden
I will die.
In the roses
They will kill me.
I was going, mother,
to pick roses,
to find death
The combinations of different forms of life are unlimited in their burgeoning activity as in their decay
Once the dust is shaken off these samples of the inexistant, then the colours glow, as they never have done
Someone asked me
what home was
and all i could think of
were the
stars
on the tip of your
tongue.
The
flowers
sprouting
from your mouth
the
roots
entwind in
the gaps
between your fingers
the ocean
echoing
inside of your
ribcage.
