Wednesday, January 16, 2008



for a reader not yet born

My always approaching Proserpina
follow the fragile wren tracks
newly stamped
into a thin blotter
of cold, white paper

see the message
left for you. Move past
the column of limb heavy
leyland cypress and berry clotted
pointed illex, follow

the skirting bone sound
the brown song
in the dead leaves

forgo the artificial heat of the orangery

and come to fatal Wintersea
where oceans bloom in fields
of white-capped flowers
preparing to ride us under

on this waiting fruit
bite down.


ca ne fait rien said...

There have been some subtle edits I think. This is a poem you feel on your skin, you hear on the hush of a crackle of morning. The beauty is, however, terrifying in one way, like being in the path of an avalanche.

Thank you for this gift.


mystysaint said...

How could I not love being invited to Wintersea .. yet another great entry in this series. Sad to see your stuff gone from allpoetry, but I am happy to find it here :)

matsbs said...

Really lovely, CV. That is all I can say.

Liza said...

There is something in this that I can't name, it's a tone, a feeling, not of 'here' but of 'someday' past, future, it doesn't seem to matter, so I'd have to call it, timeless.

The only thing I might change if it were me, and this because it keeps stopping me.

is the word 'preparing' near the end,
rather than have it starting to, I want to read 'prepared' because none of this seems as if it is trying to be, but is..

if that makes sense :)

Thank you for putting it here.

Kat said...

I am biting down in to the winter moment of your new blog


cool as a winter


the poem has a new edge
I love

I am excited by your new site