In media she took the space
With handbags,
And the darkened room
Where no photographer enjoins
With sacred books
Hapt with the chop strokes of
Some ‘young muse’
A trepidy she enlivens
To some garden sanctuary
Holding politics or breakfast
And the news-
Surely she, by holding
That space within the eye
Took up the darkened glass
Of a reticule,
Or murmured in my hearing
The mouth of basil herbs
Whether I or she knew
The phantasms of the books
Or a threaded serpent stairway
Following out of mazy sanctuaries
I was spry
To hold the pen within my hand-
As though she were
Some apt pupil,
And I still held
A mesmered spectacle
Withholding everything
In my poison
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem