January 8th, 1991 by Jim Clark
Alone
in his eye
She sings.
Spoken ripples of earth
cascade from her breath
and fall
Potent magic, sacred rain
siezing his hand
Drawing blood from his fingers
capsize his world
withdrawing him
into the pyramid of dying sky.
The ghost and the girl.
She sings
unwillingly
and he dies in her arms;
Choked by her beauty,
fleeting images snared behind his eyes
unreachable touch lodged in his throat
suffocated by rapture
entombed in desire,
His spirit rises into the heavens
of her sweet song.
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January 5th, 1991 by Jim Clark
The pale touch of heat with resonance
with Eyes that cannot be seen
Deaf to the voice of
me.
Wait.
Lost in a query
She is a magician
Dressed in the past
All arrayed.
A jeweled moon
Sea
Drawing from me
that pale touch of heat with resonance
Anger unannounced brought by the light
a solemn sigh of pretentious awakening
Intensity, that of
fine tuning
hightened perception
The world served up to me under glass.
And that simple gift she gives to me
unaware
Remote complexities of a sanctuary
and that familiar pale touch
of heat
with resonance.
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Next: "The ghost and the girl"
