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For some the mere fragrance of
jasmine
unloaded at night is discomfort−
bringing headaches, dizzy spells
and from other night-bloomers, dreams,
an uneasiness loosens in an atmosphere
blackened with snores.
Eyes open he crawled to the bed's foot-end
and sleeping, conversed with a chair full of clothes,
now a woman oddly dressed.
They talked of things between them−
him fainting at blood, her fearful of fire,
both sick feeling the sea and the chair
was forbidding him sex as she did awake
otherwise David would, sea or no sea,
be diving & drowning in her clothes.
At night the head comes apart
from its shape as a flower. Petal-bones
of the face unwrap on the wavy brainstem:
Occiput, backboard; a calyx, Sphenoid with wings
as a nightbird stirring the dark: corolla, Parietal,
walls of a ball court echoed with games,
all de-sutured from fingers in prayer.
There had been a moon coming up
in conversations, its glow bleaching slowly
the woman from laundry, the dream
became finally too bright to be seen.
He turned to me, less substantial than furniture
and glass-eyed fell for the yielding pillow.
In the morning he put on the talking clothes
which never held him more lovingly
and remembered nothing, though a faint perfume
was attached to the air.
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