Gargoyle 11cover etching by Scott McIntyrepublication date 5/25/1979
Trying not to think of you yet your face colors every contour of my mind, and every way I turn inside of a minute I collide with your laughter
I am wind and you are chimes.
Trying to keep cool in the winter, trying to be patient and not watch the slow calendar nor the sand dribbling like wax so closely with my hawk eye,
my love eye traces the hem lines of the days.
Think sometimes this is all just a fragile dream, a thin rain streaked glass that a chapel bell or a failing leaf might shatter, and I’d find myself in the crux of the night, in the flabby arms of my own song once more.
Rain, rain if this is a dream don’t tap so hard on the glass.
If this is real I don’t want to be afraid, want to trust enough to know the floor will not collapse, the sun capsize or the moon explode like a light bulb with a short circuit.
It is August I adjust my instruments to, check my internal compass, fill my deflated sails with the astral winds of your song.
I write letters To keep us moving through the dark.
Letters as a way of giving you my hands, reassuring you that I won’t let go, will hold fast, will be whispering to the days to run and to the nights to take jets. I’ll turn all the months between this moment and August into silver ships that will travel faster than light and sound.
So that it won’t seem so long.
So that one morning instead of letters you can open my hands. Read the inflection of every word as a pulse from my heart. Fold my hands into your own, and put them where you’ve been saving my other words.
Don’t want to be afraid. I need letters from you like a tunnel torch or stars so I can keep pushing through the dark. Don’t want us to be afraid–
you are wind I am chimes.