'OUTSIDE FROM THE START'i
What does the hard look do to what it sees?
Pull beauty out of it, or stare it in? Slippery
heart on legs clops into the boiling swirl as
a pale calm page shoots up, opening rapidly
to say
I know – something unskinned me, so
now it bites into me – it has skinned me alive,
I get dried from dark red to dark windspun
withered jerky, to shape handy flyports out
of my lattice, or pulled out am membranes
arched bluish, webby, staked out to twang
or am mouthslick of chewed gum, dragged
in a tearing tent, flopped to a raggy soft sag.
Yet none have hard real edges, since each one
is rightly spilled over, from the start of her life.
How long do I pretend to be all of us.
Will you come in out of that air now.
ii
Black shadows, sharp scattered green
sunlit in lime, in acid leaves.
Hot leaves, veined with the sun
draining the watcher’s look of all colour
so a dark film moves over her sight.
Then the trees glow with inside light.
Hold to the thought if it can shine
straight through a dream of failed eyes sliding
to the wristwatch’s face, wet under its glass
a thickening red meniscus
( tilting across its dial )