This is the final poem in Stuart's Evening Series...
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Evening VIIWhose doorbell did I press, what chime
Played out the notes of another house
I entered what should not be long ago but is,
Whose voice through the woodwork asked
Who’s there, what did those tones suggest,
The plush rug, my mirrored face in the hall,
A cooking aroma still unresolved, hanging
In the air like a sweet cloud, a little
Vacant now but palpable as hands remembering
Hands, as hands extending into the air?
That skin felt real, can still be held
The way what remains in time gets held
A fixed embrace, naked as the one
Beneath the wrappings of husband and wife
Fitted together in their double sarcophagus,
Sailing on a pallet through the royal night
Down the fabled river, where the owls
Break in standing timber, and what remains
Of a soul gets haunted by flesh, their
Continuous movement disguised as rest.
Houses of the past, that living room
Spawned fancies and migrations, the great
Passage of the day, the twilit century
Undraped, seen through the picture window,
The sun, a scribe, accountable and true
To the spirits of our evenings and avenues.
The sea is far from home now. The sea is
Somewhere I can get through this door and out
another, through the yards and trees and over
the wall, if she were there to let me in.
Stuart Dischell***************
Read
Evening here:
http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=105x8119106Read
Evening II here:
http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=105x8121789Read
Evening III here:
http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=105x8124447Read
Evening IV here:
http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=105x8126549Read
Evening V here:
http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=105x8128948Read
Evening VI here:
http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=105x8130737***************
:hi:
RL