Robyn Art
Three Poems
The Name of the Body Which Is Sleep
The name of the body which is sleep
the sleep of the body which is breath
the body of notes which is the breath
of the open window, the sound
of the body which is I, the door
of the sound which is and,
the breath of the note of the body
which is love, the sound of the breath
of the body which is will, the open
window, the note by the door I will
always love you and
Hyperphagia in the Dry Town
Outside, the cloud’s torn scraps,
snow like curdled milk
raked with a trowel.
Moon a perfect exit woundin the lightening morning sky.
She pours the coffee into diner mugs
an orthopedic-shoe beige.
Touches his hand. Neither one of themgetting any younger.
Inside, their bodies glide past each other
in the well oiled and noiseless ease
of the married and the dead.The hogtied wages of love: Hair
on the pillow, flower
through rock, scuffed-up slippers
with the tags still on.
Song of the Stone
The stone, the water, the body, the hand
The water, the woman, the body, the man
The body, the hold, the rising, the pulse
The hand, the surge, the woman, the crest
The grasp, the hold, the mouth, the surge
The hold, the pulse, the woman, the man
The mouth, the pulse, the rising, the crest
The surge, the woman, the rising, the child
The hand, the body, the water, the stone
The body, the woman, the rising, the child
The water, the mouth, the child, the surge
The stone, the water, the body, the hand