Gedicht
Theo Dorgan
A Slow Poem
A Slow Poem
A Slow Poem
I place my finger with great careon the sleeping magnificent body of my beloved.
The room is quiet and huge, the air still, so still
I hear dustmotes falling like leaves on the counterpane.
I stop my breathing and she fills me up
with swell of breath, the rise and fall of tides
so quiet and silver there, I am carried up and out of touch;
and she is far below me, curled into me,
her skin sufficient boundary, her dreams and trouble stilled.
Her troubles become diamond in my chest, I tip and balance
here beneath the ceiling, full of airy, thoughtful love, then fall
as slowly as leaves falling on a field,
until I settle there beside her, breathing her breath.
© 1995, Theo Dorgan
From: What This Earth Cost Us
Publisher: Dedalus, Dublin
From: What This Earth Cost Us
Publisher: Dedalus, Dublin
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A Slow Poem
I place my finger with great careon the sleeping magnificent body of my beloved.
The room is quiet and huge, the air still, so still
I hear dustmotes falling like leaves on the counterpane.
I stop my breathing and she fills me up
with swell of breath, the rise and fall of tides
so quiet and silver there, I am carried up and out of touch;
and she is far below me, curled into me,
her skin sufficient boundary, her dreams and trouble stilled.
Her troubles become diamond in my chest, I tip and balance
here beneath the ceiling, full of airy, thoughtful love, then fall
as slowly as leaves falling on a field,
until I settle there beside her, breathing her breath.
From: What This Earth Cost Us
A Slow Poem
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