One Poem By Eleanor Gray
ambush of evening, solstice spilled on stone
without animal blood but other: our true names written
where river runs her blue arms through a velvet meadow
pale one, bending to waters, with a language of seeing &
silent woods, I am obscured by every beauty
you have never belonged
fleshed with the ordinary work of death,
irreducible in otherness
black violets, marsh-lily, open as many mouths in the
open chest of diligence
the day is feasting on the innocent, reeds of sun
bound in their song
familiar world, I do not know you
what does my mad heart dream of? my fingers,
stained with the tithe of violets
a dark sea spread with voyages, shy animals,
a garden where all love is,
far from me
with only dreams to feed the soul on, I go,
through the dark wood, wings waxen
time has no name for you, the words of…
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