Friday 13 March 2015

Another Ter Balkt poem

She carries a glass of water up the stairs
    for W.

Rainbows crowd in front of the window
Seas crowd together under her foot
She carries a glass of water up the stairs

In her glass bouquets of papaver, golden
fields of corn, stars of lesser celandine;
dusty evenings and villages, like snow

flaking in the glass that she carries up the stairs
It is the great flight of stairs from silence
to silence, it is the ending flight of stairs

In her glass: goldseekers
In her glass: winter circuses
She bravely carries her big glass of water

Listen, in her bermuda triangle
planes and fast ships will
plunge and founder, against her glass

lips will stick fast, spirits, drinking
and shouting ‘There is The Sea, The Sea -’
(Four highroads peer through the keyhole)

She carries her glass of water up the stairs
It’s water that gleams like clear light
Summer roads; towns; mountains in her glass

The beams of the house place a frame around her
Blazing old water on sailing ships sings
of love; she is love

The stairs are of rumours and almost break,
brittle as the twigs of thought
but she gracefully carries her glass of water

(All stairs would go to the roaring fire,
the houses would secretly go to the maelstrom
where even ships and planes end)

She though carries her glass of clear water
She carries her glass up the ash-flaky stairs
and seas ripple deep down under her foot

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