that shine on lips not yet beautifully bruised .
They have given themselves to darkness,
to you, Casteen, who put out that
intolerable light, passed through stones
to lie sleepless, hoping to know her name,
as I, now, slap myself and wait, stung.
Aaron Bulman
(against the cold)
*
it is the luck of the moon that no one
will walk upon her moonscapes, nor touch her,
not in the summer that came at decade's end,
not even when the dark side was shown to be
the same, all along, as the side already seen;
but this too is luck, like the baying of dogs ,
of whom the talmud says, they bay at death,
(someone
else
's)
not mine, not mine, not me , not yet.
while shaking our heads no in unison
at the unheard of speeds of our age,
which call into question his other ages:
just as i dance
across from you
and i am unable
to touch in you
so should it be
"This is part of a longer poem called
Last Diaspora.
