Saidness

You move on me, not like a mirror,
but like daylight.

A dying man’s life was really a day,
one long day of life:
watch the sky open, watch the sky close.
This cloudscape belongs above Montana.

You step in me, not like mud,
but like river:
unlike the cat chase of Mohenjo-Daro,
unlike the Martian meteorites.

The turquoise from the jewelry-makers of God
I take from your eyes
and hold onto the colors of day.
There: life is frozen.

O Antarctica, only you have beaten time,
or so
the foreign-exchange students
from the mermaid-lands
have told me.

I love you, football, tender, tender.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
from:

Lovers Of The Century (poetry book)