(My response poem here to Dylan Thomas' Where Once the Waters of your Face, now posted on cafecafe where this challenge was raised)
Through the brooding waters I see your
sad face elongate, pale to a rippling
sheet, so anxious in your search for me among
unraveled rope splices and green bottom stones.
My totems.
Seaweed cradles my head.
Coral forms my rough cot.
Fish bend for their nightly prayers
at phosphorescent gown's hem.
You pine for a pink-cheeked mirage, dear heart,
her legs still wrapped, laughing, 'round
your waist; not this dead lover more
suitable for Chambered Nautilus or
finned thrashing playmates of the deep.
Taking pity, at last, I drift up
through the fathoms, press ectoplasmic
lips to your warm ones, murmur words
you've waited for these long months
of vigil, until Sirens circle to bear me
out to where only the bravest dare follow.
PAC (c)2006
5 comments:
Another lovely impressionist poem Pris.
If I might just whisper in your ectoplasmic ear that you have a typo - 'fathams' should be 'fathoms' of course (even in the States :-))
Well darn...as an old seagoer I don't know how I missed that one. Fixed it. Thanks!
Beautiful Pris, you did a great job.
thanks, Michelle...I'm going to let it sit until the end of the day then put it onto cafecafe. Are you going to try one?
Michael...thanks!
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