Twilight

(2002)



In a twilight sleep, just before the hour
of my death, the room shifts
from the weight of a pill.

I have lost my language, love,
moving like a house as I have
for thirty years within

the stained cracks of churches,
and churches are stationary,
churches never move.

I am finished with it all
as I pull my peasant’s robe
tightly about my shoulders.

I have seen the angel-face
of Rimbaud as he squats
within his squalid grave.

I turned my face away from his.
He never forgot and as I kiss you
I remember and wake only because you wake.