Three

Joanna Klink

In windowless rooms never
dark or light I had spent
my thoughts timeblind the oysters
in pans of seawater opening and closing
their shells a numbness staggered
across minutes and some days it took
every ounce of strength to be there the wind
sifting lightly through trees as stunned and un-
regarding I stepped across grass
the dry air bringing in dusk such
feathered perception a singed
petal a trellis each separate loosened
thread of nightfall shaking
the roses before me in the dark

*
There was no record however
having lived I hung the dress
filled the salt cellars in my
ordinary life each gesture
matters as pools of wind cross
through scattered weeds was there
a message the deer held down to drink
snowbirds in the wind holding
very still something
cyclic deep as if a pattern
spread by you could
change what I can feel

*
Or to feel the voice
of your body crowded with
sleep a dark pressure of blood
through corridors I asked
what else could grow
silent before me shaking
after love these beats
under your skin light
falling where the rain was.