Monday, 7 April 2008
Smoking Girl by Veronica Aldous
I see her white against the whitening window
she is undressed, her body bends a spiral
curve, a jetty loosening in space, her dark hair
bluish dark with the slab of glass behind her
the cold blue flash of winter streets beyond.
Now a picture here, of rocks, a rising hill fort
drops from my hand into my head, the air
was cold and slightly salty, I held my mouth
open for a while and swallowed clouds, high vapour.
A little like the way I thought of you.
Silver wrapped around my finger, carried you
into a shifting shadowed cave, there in my bone pavilion
we reclined on uncertain cushions, supped dangerously
on coiling cloud fungus juices, chinese flowers.
I saw you recently as though you were unraveling -
I no longer think you're real, unhouseled spirit
my memory made you curve like breath on mirrors
uncoiling, till you left my body's shell.