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Up, before the light before everything begins embarking on a boat, a vehicle from one world to the next
between here and then between beginnings: past, present, future: end drawn-out lives, cut short or opened up hurried estimations, predictions of the past from one imperfect vision to the next
coming back, into the cool of the house the enormous rooms, for a city the ceilings rising like a feverish dream
feeling the flush of some ecstacy hot fire on the cheek, a touch of sunburn on the brow
talking about death, as the light came up about the beginning of life, about the end the Macleay River, utterly flat like a shining mirror and a razor-blade, with no sense of beginning or end
the dullness of the senses, thin steel scraping across the soapy skin, the gravel in the knee, the black bruise of loss
the taste of blood in the mouth
© Stephen Cassidy, 1991 |
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Up, before the light |
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poetry |
