Lola Ridge

(December 12, 1873- May 19, 1941 / Dublin)

Nocturne


Indigo bulb of darkness
Punctured by needle lights
Through a fissure of brick canyon shutting out stars,
And a sliver of moon
Spigoting two high windows over the West river….
Boy, I met to-night,
Your eyes are two red-glowing arcs shifting with my vision….
They reflect as in a fading proof
The deadened eyes of a woman,
And your shed virginity,
Light as the withered pod of a sweet pea,
Moist and fragrant
Blows against my soul.
What are you to me, boy,
That I, who have passed so many lights,
Should carry your eyes
Like swinging lanterns?

Submitted: Wednesday, February 08, 2012

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