The Formed Eye

The fog is in the fir trees,
Now dragging its slimy belly
On the bank.
Even the dirt keeps breathing
A small death.
Taken from the ocean,
The river turns upon itself.
In the dark time, an eye
Begins to form.

Let us go then, you and I,
The Cambridge Ladies who live in
Furnished souls,
Who never dreamed of incarnate
Gaps in time and space,
But of a world of knights
And wizards and Love.
Let us go then to imaginary gardens
With real toads in them.
But the flowering lily pads
Are moody, lapping their glossy sides
As if trying to hide
The slightest flaw, but
Failing completely.
And the warm eye in the sky
Is gone
And there is no light.
I knew not that you
Had covered my eyes, as
You led me down a path
Of twists and turns; a
Descent follows, endless and
Destructible.

One must have a mind of winter,
Biting clear and cold,
Who sees, who steps, who calls in a
Blessed rage for order.
When sisters separate, they haunt
Each other: you know in
Singing,
Not to sing.