Distant Dust

Dust

when I turn to diamonds

will you wear me in your hair?

will you wear me on your fingers

or in your tiny ears

like stars in your black night?

fondled forever by many eyes

wondering who your diamonds were

before they became jewels for you

<>

When I turn to night

will you bring me daybreak?

will you bring me stars

or the moonlight

with its every-greedy movement

across your endless sky?

wondering where this night was

before it became the dawn

<>

when I turn to dust

will you blow me away?

will you gather me in your hands

or in a crystal box?

with your smiles the seal

and its sides your tears?

as you wonder who I was

to turn to dust for you

<>

I ask, for you see,

I too shall become

dust fragile

night invisible

diamond transparent

and I have to know

before I turn

before I turn

before I turn to you

Oct/70

Beware the love-lorn fool who knows how to use language to over-state his case 🙂 This piece is entirely an exercise in language not one about an actual person or experience. I get a rather middle-eastern vibe from it now – maybe the influence of Kahlil Gilbran – who wrote about love in similar  lofty, selfless, intellectual language. It makes me think of young girls who want to kiss some idol without it going further than that.

Today I am struck by the lack of sexuality, of lust, of carnality in this piece. Why was I reluctant to be explicit? Partly out of a sense of shame. The purer the emotional the more ethical, the more spiritual it is. To admit physical longing was base & not spiritual at all.

I am amused by the ‘fragility’ of it after the rough ‘rrr’s of Woodsman :-). It has a very pop song structure with images leading to the wrap up in the final verse. I was/am fond of theme & variation when I write poetry. I also enjoy patterned structure that isn’t rhyme or meter but image construct & repeated words ‘when I turn to’ ‘will you’ ‘wonder/wondering’. A structure that ties the verses together.

A structure that ends with that last verse. By which the reader doesn’t know of the object of affection even knows it is an object of affection. That unattainable object of desire that only exists in the mind of the poet. The ending is ambiguous – is the poet transforming into the object or finally ready to confront the object of desire. Or are both dust on the mirror that keeps the reader from seeing themselves 🙂

I do have a limited number of the original Distant Music chapbook for sale for $25.00 each (includes surface mail postage). Send via the paypal above along with where to send it.

paypal.me/TOpoet 

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