RichardZola

Richard Zola

England

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One leading neither blind and someone unseen

as small frogs leaped

as we walked through night

through grass

the hem of your skirt

absorbing water

and seeds between

your painted toes

i carried your shoes

walked in your footsteps

2 parallel lines

across a black feild

diagonally.

at a metal gate

a dog sat stared with us

until called away

by someone unseen

this side of the gate:

small stones

and a wind from the left

dissolving our clothes

you said:

frog leaping yes

but no river

no stream

and wrapped your head in silk

when light dried the grass

and those stems not broken

began to rise:

you me sleeping

and seeds on the floor

of a city room

st thomas aquinas blindfolded again

through the window

more than 44 corroding rooves

and beneath this one

you me

your rings never removed

twist easily

yes and i watch your mouth

in profile

and your belly rising

falling

beneath creatures breathing

without air

the ocean moves that line

of hanging lights

and you hear it

in mouths and eyes

moving

and in tightened fingers

unfolding

you me

bitten

empty still restless

eating flesh

in memory of no-one

when the last doormouse has been flung from the last high window

a branch:

and the claws of the bird

will loosen

when that woman reaches the fountain

when her shadow

darkens the water

before she sits to read

when i've twisted your bracelet

another 5 times

when the white blind

in that window is unrolled

when that yellow door opens

when your painted mouth

next says perpetual

when that infant near the kiosk wakes

when the tall man

and the small man

reach the gate

or at the opening

of the octopus eye

oh the branch is empty

and the ghost of a pig waltzing

We walked beneath

unlit hanging lights

to the blue iron bridge

the imprintsof leaves

on paving stone

and pyrimids of snow

in corners against steps

you talked of another

your breath in his rooms

and the lawns he made

for you to die on

you talked of white washed walls

and how you drew

around the shadows of horses

the blue iron bridge

and beneath us

the body of a pig floating

pale in black water

turning a circle

and again in 3/4 time

we should throw flowers

you said

make sighs

your face in profile

lips moving

and the pig circles turning

disappearing into dark

and your heels mine

running on beaufort street 3 am

and now we sit in yellow light

with days to fill

with dancing

you could wait all night to see two nuns and a priest chasing a dog

a black sky

heat

insects around a street lamp

through a lighted window:

a man leaning across a table

towards a woman leaning back

to her right:

copper pans hanging

and a partly open door.

you me walking

2 dogs running

around the neck of one:

a rosary.

on a donated bench

too low to see over the river wall

we sat among sentences

of figures passing

you said:

benches are for the dying

the stones in the wall

were long wide

carefully shaped

some half hidden by weeds

those at the top:

worn smooth

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All works copyrighted Richard Zola 2001

Used with kind permission of the Poet

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