THE ANTIQUITIES IN ROOM 101
A paperclip imprisons Her,
Gripping Her hidden page against
Its even one - as
if
a small,
Upsetting picture appearing
In
my left palm were clapped away
Into the darkness of my right
One - The benign backs of the leaves
Yield only the rustle of dry
Texts: rainfall along the Nile; rice
And cotton - but no glimpses nor
Even mention of monuments.
Meanwhile, unwinkingly across
Aeons made contiguous by
Folds in a printed surface, She
Kisses Her facing page, blunted
Nose smudged away by no caress
Of Hers, as no whispering twists
The half-remembered mouth into:
A grin? A frown of leonine,
Brown, female rubble too much like
A hill? The wind of fear blew down
My slope of face and arm a month
Before, when She thrust Herself at
My unarmed eye and clung - whether
Claws sank in my consciousness or
Image, after-image adhered
Behind my awareness, claiming
All of that old kingdom. Naming
Her, that hard word that gripped the mouth
Like muscle, then vanishing in
Strangeness of X-spelled close, would hurt.
I would not look. For weeks Her stone,
Fattening on time and dry air,
Has squatted deep in sand, the parts
That will not be seen yet having
Less and less to do with legs each
