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.
TOpoet 