Friday, March 7, 2008

Wolff Poem

The painter’s favorite clichés

Running through the dark
I carry a bottle of light;
with heart in mouth,
like a thief in the night.

Inside the glass
the magic moves:
slippery, invisible:
easy to lose.

I reach in & catch it:
a one-armed circus trick.
There my heart breaks:
cut to the quick.

Falling down between teeth
it pools in the ocean’s lake,
beyond reach,
leaving behind its perfect taste:

I am kissing the ghost
drinking the stuff—
I am walking on water:
gravity’s transparent lust.

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