| Love
of your life in a snowglobe.
Light
feathers rise in a ring, around all of a hundred separate patters,
down in a storm: on ribbons of pillowcloth linens, a ruffle and
tear shred under each spattering drop: the rain comes in sheets,
in cases of rains, on tattering stitches of silk parting way to
down: on tiptoes, with fingers out marionetting your numerous pigtails
and arms to the air: she's so short! She's short of the ceiling!
You're shorter than archways of snowglobe bounding a castle of revolving
precipitation, a castle of arches, a castle to share: in a cloud
you are fluttering tickle and down, tiptoes on pillows and calling
me in to a soppy white heaven, where everything's near to your reach,
where everything's wet and white feathers.
poem
by Paul Dougherty |
