Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Garden (2003)

We walk the public garden,
breathing vapours.

A cold, dim Saturday;
a cornerstone of winter.

Wind deranges the plants;
rain is preparing.

We choose a bench coated with moisture;
an unspoken decision leaves us seated apart.

You've brought me here
to release a secret.

You draw your coat tighter around you;
I rub the iceflesh of my hands.

You take a breath of silence, then
begin your endsong: ruptured, unrehearsed.

Your hands unbutton history;
your face is a paraphrase.

Like a wounded child's ball you fling
the name that was caught in your eyes.

Once, next to me, la belle dame sans merci;
now a nameless impostor in the garden.

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