/On Scheherazade

Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake

                                                            and dress them in warm clothes again. 

 

LRG_DSC02740 copy 2.jpg

           How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running 

until they forget that they are horses. 

           It's not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere, 

it's more like a song on a policeman's radio,

           how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days

were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple 

                                                                                               to slice into pieces. 

LRG_DSC02755 copy.jpg

Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it's noon, that means

             we're inconsolable.

LRG_DSC02750 copy.jpg

                                            Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. 

These, our bodies, possessed by light. 

                                                                            Tell me we'll never get used to it.

LRG_DSC02779.jpg

(by richard sicken)