Monday, April 13, 2009

the Center of Vision


Matters of the hand
A matched patch
Through which a particular woman eyes
The troubled bloom.
Tell me, fireman or mason,
Is time standing still
And waiting for a day like this?
From overseas empire we
Possess nowhere and
Pay heed:
a narrow forefinger dressed carelessly
ripping open a photo of a
Funeral bed.

Poor Dignam.

No comments: