Julia Gaze

the coming on of stars

When my dream was near the moon,
The white folds of its gown
Filled with yellow light

the night is a woman
soft, soft singing
mysteries like
those who would have liked
her name
or the volume missing
blue in black

The night is fallen
turning black blue
her back to
on you
too too monumental
double bent at
some black true thing
swallowing something
transcendental

the night is veiled
is lack slack slow flow
slight slighted
bringing back a thing
once you were sick for
lighted by the prick
of stars conjured into being
by the dark.

Orchid

Maybe it’s like this:
your love’s a Japanese water print -
delicate as that -
a thing so vulnerable it wears its veins
outside of its skin.

When I think of your heart
kept outside of your body for four hours
and the ache in your chest
which is only sometimes figurative

the orchid shimmers
a thing of beauty and unbelonging

Daphne

Spring, I sprout
a thousand green tongues -
announcements
wanting mouths.

My head is a cloud
of loud holes -
voices that evaporate
as night draws in.

I hear the weather
shift, molten vowels
run into rain then
a crust of frost.

All love petrifies in time -
subject and object.
I want to tell you how it is
before my tongue falls out.

Copyright © Julia Gaze, 2010