30

The stubborn mouth padlocked in anger,
Persists alone a long mournful moment
But the taste of joy is life itself.

Weeping comes by night and flies
With nightingale
And pink-tipped cloud.

I was rich in being unmoved: a mountain
Though troubled by storms of ice:
My blood: useless dust

Til the face of the sun
Thawed out the song: a rope
Lifting and turning

My feet through the circle
Of dragging half-steps, drugged
Paces of lamentation

To a jig that warmed the bouncing boards
Who all together shouted "rhythm!"
Commanding rhyme

And melody
Dressed in transparent brocade
Chased with quick feet

As the robe encircling song
Veiled and unveiled the viol's
Flaring haunch and touch-taut string

So my life and all my voice
Became a quaking
Shaking lyric aimed at bliss.


© Dan Goorevitch, 2003