Morandi Sequence
Arcades brick dust a rose lamp burns in the upstairs window every-
thing I will say I have said already still again the arcades the dust the
light to be built by the bottle the box I will say saucer I have said
everything I will say
*
The accumulation of transparent planes brims with ashes in a cup
reducible to rain running from the awnings of arcades a girl carry-
ing a pitcher of water through half-dark dust stirred by the bulk of her
skirt suspends I can still reach toward that past saying "'snarl of
sun'" I opened and closed the door of a telephone booth watching the
coil redden and dim I saw your street in a photograph a tangle of
black thread crossed out
*
Your tongue is a letter I have not written in days it took all day to
load the trees with silence the street with quartz the lamp carves
a semi-circle from the wall distance again cleaves (the mirror, etc)
light again from dark between which the dust settles uniformly I
have been talking to you now for two days at a time I will try not to
think about swallowing my tongue
*
The past an idea veiled as an image I have been happy for some
time who knows why it is cold here very cold I measure these
things in smaller and smaller increments perhaps we can only relate
to our own imaginings perhaps we are only in love with our own images
what did you take me for
*
By now I'm beginning in smaller and smaller increments the trees
load themselves with silence the arcades with dust the bottle with
light in a semi-circle she carries an umbrella through the pitcher of
the room as before it must be full day now for the dust settles
so uniformly
*
It's only evenings augured open after all and the quartz streets
strange lattice of light detached from space by the tremors of their
shape objects themselves our medians or mediations touch with
shadows the far off light on the facades facets a rose lamp burn-
ing everything I have said and will endeavor