Breyten Breytenbach Poems

today I went down on your body
while windows were thick white eyes
and hearkened the clogged cavities
in the small darkroom of your chest,
...

give me a pen
so I may sing
that life is not in vain

give me a season
...

for Balthazar

the prisoner says

now I'm not sure
...

how often were we wrapped in coolness on the floor
the smell of turpentine and fire
the canvases white to our empty eyes
night's indifference
...

your letter is larger and lighter
than the thought of a flower when the dream
is a garden—
...

Francisco de Goya y Lucientes
with candles on the brim of his hat
straddles the rim of a dark century dark horses
...

when my heart comes to me
through the night
the streets where horse carts go
clip-clopping to collect black bags
...

this is the season when the dreamer,
swathed in dark remembrances
like an infant swaddled in the weavings of night,
often sobs in his sleep
...