Madame La Fleurie

deviant art by cyre


Madame la Fleurie

Weight him down, O side-stars,
with the great weightings of the end.
Seal him there.
He looked in a glass of the earth
and thought he lived in it.
Now, he brings all that he saw
into the earth,
to the waiting parent.
His crisp knowledge is devoured by her,
beneath a dew.

Weight him, weight, weight him
with the sleepiness of the moon.
It was only a glass
because he looked in it.
It was nothing he could be told.
It was a language he spoke,
because he must, yet did not know.
It was a page he had found
in the handbook of heartbreak.

The black fugatos are strumming
the blackness of black...
The thick strings stutter
the finial gutturals.
He does not lie there
remembering the blue-jay, say the jay.
His grief is that his mother should
feed on him, himself and what he saw,
In that distant chamber, a bearded queen,
wicked in her dead light.

Wallace Stevens

Posted over on her site Poemhunter