not writing about the rain today

this morning on the sidewalk a piece of a bird lay there. the top half of a wing. the sidewalks were soaked and my shoes nearly skidded on the rotting piles of fallen leaves. allan says it is sweater and umbrella weather in london in autumn. although i dreamt of italy last night i spoke in english the entire time, and the grand market itself was from paris. i am geographically at odds with the rest of myself, lately. but perhaps that comes as no surprise. this is what i wrote last night.
_______________________________________
begged and borrowed light (8.12.01)


o porcelain, sleek flank of bright skin
gliding on, nymph or swan,
all trumpeting hips and fluted wrist:

make me swoon into your atmosphere,
your smooth and unhurried grace,
your aching illuminate curve of cheek.

let me gain this altitudinal bliss i crave of you
when ground-bound and solid-boned
i walk unversed days,

when i am nothing to be remembered---
an unarticulated mote
in a collection of other dusty nothings.

teach me your sung lips and sloping neck,
push and push my eyes and limbs
into a dim tomb of earth,

suffocate and subsume me until i am nothing,
until i am a mere eye---
give me your unsealed light until i drown.

i will give you words and words and words
until i disappear
and you are all i own.