Monday, January 05, 2015

Pasternak’s ink

by Roberto Lavidez

wide
wide
wide
river
and field
stretch
away
snow is
falling
all is lost
the whole
world’s
streaming
past
our gatherings
are testaments
so the secret
stream
of suffering
may warm
the cold
of life
the candle
burned
on the table
the candle
burned
when did
the stars
sweep
down
so low
midnight
sink
so deep
in tall grass
consciousness
started
to flash
here
it seems
flooding
in play
even the
corners
of mind
where it’s
always
bright
as day
it seems
a primal
happiness
was setting
it seems
the wood
was sunk
in sunlet
dream
at twilight
the swifts
have no
power
to hold
back
that pale
blue
coolness
that moon
a numb
hound’s
tongue
is there
frozen tight
that mouths
like the
forgers
of coins
are stung
as if into
unprecedented
faith
I cross
into this
night
poetry
tonight
I’ll squeeze
you out
to make
the parched
sheets
flower
under
the blind
the steppe
plunges
from step
to star
below
the black
shows
through
and the
wind’s
furrowed
with cries
beyond
it’s Sunday
breaking
branches
the glade
running off
sliding
on leaves
has the
birch
copse
stopped
fading
staining
its shade
more watery
still
and growing
then?
isn’t its
meaning
for endless
lives
squandering
on nightingales
your glory?
I’m alone:
the Pharisees
are met
to live’s
not to
cross
a field
I’ll moisten
my lips
listening
whether
as ever
I’m loneliness
and ready
maybe for
weeping
better to
spread
the coat
on the
ground
here
beneath me
I think
I can
call on
words
that will
last:
you are
there
and I
found you
always
my favourite
reading
I am
finished
but you
live on

©robertolavidez2014  
























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