At least that one; where his speechless son
can fill his mouth
With pebbles, and learn to outshout the sea."
Ingeborg Bachmann
A TYPE OF LOSS
Commonly used: seasons, books and music.
The keys, the tea cups, the breadbasket, sheets
and a bed.
A dowry of words, of gestures, brought along,
used, spent.
Manners observed. Said. Done . And always
the hand extended.
With winter, a Vienna septet and with summer I've
been in love.
With maps, a mountain hut, with a beach and
a bed.
A cult filled with dates , promises
impossibly given,
enthused about Something and pious before Nothing,
(-the folded newspapers, cold ashes, the slip
with a jotted note)
fearless in religion, because the church was this bed.
From the seascape came my inexhaustible painting.
From the balcony , the people below, my neighbors,
were there to greet.
By the fire, in safety, my hair had its most exceptional
color.
The doorbell ringing was the alarm for my joy.
