In the domain of O (stormtrain coming) we awaited azure instructions
          (the lightning was a blade of grass, it happens between powers
          and we have reason to be afraid)
We had to lift the weight (azure, stormtrain) forgetting made of us
          (it was the definition of sound,
          it was the definition of light)
and we only had so much time (sea in the harbour, azuretrain)
to make what we were real —
to make it real

In the Saturn arrondissement (snow section) I was working
          in a silk department
We had to lift the weight (O, the domain) forgetting made of us
          (it was the core of who we were,
          it was the definition of my)
as we walked by the harbourside (ocean domain, a storm coming)
trying to say what we were soon
and to make what we said so real —
just to make it real

We pumped the iron of that snow (name-calling, the place we ran to)
          and I was afraid it was light (still light)
          before the phenomenal curfew
We had to lift that embargo (state-making, the place we ran to)
          and in zollverein tongues we spoke (I'm still here)
          before an ochre border and a checkpoint of souls

And you were a glassmaker
and I was a sailmaker
and you were a housekeeper
and I was a lawmaker: across
          the silk border we go: across
                    the silk border we go
          so:

And I was a stunning orator, the glasshouse of my speech was real
          (outside it was raining, we waited for the rain to clear)
Widowmaking clouds were gathering over the beach,
          and you were a sublime miner
          (in the rain people cycled or walked, they were
          particle physicians, they were soul decor)
Each custombuilt sorrow cruised the wet streets
          (it was like a shallow Venice)
          while the boatmaking hands that had touched me so gently
          so gently let me go

Forever interrupts each step
forever
forever interrupts each step (take the next one)

In the domain of O,
the hands of the throatcutter and the hands of the diamondcutter
          (we'll part soon) are one
In the domain of O,
the eyes of the dressmaker and the eyes of the rapemaker
          (we'll meet soon) look for you
In the rain of O, I ran with my goodguy poems
          across the streets (they were waiting)
In the rain of O, worldcutters were at work in their heads
          mapping out me, mapping out you (they were waiting)
Worldwoodcutters were working, chopping away
and the woodcutter stops when only empty space is left…

Outside, worldrain was falling,
          being cut into spaghetti-like lengths of diamond
and tender, troublemaking memories were being formed
                    in small, soft, physical syllables
we didn't touch we never touched they are not ours
this is not ours
this is not mine

This is mine

Copyright © Michael Ayres, 2003.