The only window, in disrepair
Francesca Woodman, “Untitled”, Rhode Island, 1975-78. Source: americansuburbx.com
Don’t come tonight, sad bat
Packing your head between my brows.
We have denied one another at times
In despair and in defeat. In vain
Face bumping at face,
The heart at the heart.
Let the fire be, settle and sleep,
The wind scatter it at will,
There is nothing that might warm
These cold eyes. I am
Betrayed by all fronts,
Baggage bundled under my arm.
Yawn
Yawn
This night might pass,
You rushing and it going faster past
You, overcome with weakness,
And its resolve pulled whip-tight,
And this fog which hides me from you
Just the ashes of our love.
Give me your hands, safe
Clever grave. Give me your dark.
I am woman terror-struck.
One blow and it goes down,
Sun of the body and the soul.
