Sky-head dashing through Chelyabinsk
tumble yourself out shattering
glassy fears, we know no other.
Life has always looked set
to begin tomorrow, its ancientness
burns now the motorways and blasts out
windows and boils the ice under which you lay
so your corpse comes up like an apple.
With a name writ in water
with eyes clear to water transitional
species appearing to watch
your own appearance, your eel nature
that loves to hide
pinks up and comes wired with songs.
You give names to the unknown future,
make its fashions specific. If you keep
these almonds for eyes, will the rain glaze
with universal justice your membranous head.
Will you retain yourself in safety
if your crushing or exhaustion
is the black hole of thought, will you scatter
your radiant occult sugars
over a world quivering momentarily with peace?
Will you keep the nutty heat of the sacred
in your thumb-sized heart.
We page-turn for you forever,
because life is actually very stupid,
because we bide your admiration stupidly,
in proverbs, in grand precise speeches,
in flashes better than this
shows the limits of my power:
a limit lying alongside you through our intimately broken
night, like the silver horizon of waters
of promises whose writ you are the name
1 March 2015