EMILY
I remember the day
dearly recall
stumbling upon your house
tumbling through your door
crashing
on your floor
lucky the sheaves and sheaves
scattered their to
break my fall
keep me warm
as I did sleep
and sleep I did
for a very lomg time
but time
is, they say, relative
and what
might have seemed eons
could just
have been
a year
cocooned in that great nest
of all your best poems
and me wandering through
them all
stanza by stanza
whole of that
dreamtime
opening door
after door
inside room
after room
upstairs
downstairs
curved spiral
and spine
somewhere up there
a down there
the box of legend full
of
smell of death carriage,
bone, zero
snake
and sharpest of splinter
of shard
that the eye
might penetrate
this night nurse of a woman
you have smocked and
thereby
contained
look again!
look again!
the horror is so thick
it does not need to seep
the whole
of your continent in
usual sweet quandry, yet
one more dead mistake
poems 2 die for 