CAROL POLCOVAR
LES FAUVES
In
a few hours I can be found not far from here
photographing ships and fishermen
I live just past the bridge where the yellow
woman sings falsetto.
Here, love, here we are all quite mad,
the spoon of the sea forever frozen in its cup
the day refusing to begin
yet if you breathe, your chest will rise
and colors filter through
In
our most noble hours we are like wild beasts
insisting ourselves from ochre to hot blues
when you are gone i will study at your colors,
i will spread myself across the bed and wear the
shawl and eat the melon,
now i bend to dry your feet
In
another time i grasped your arm and said,
"I can go back now to study the way our forks
clicked against the plate,"
but when sunlight drowned us, i collected you
and spread you softly in the light
I remember that and the landscape hushing green.
