kevin clark



The Assignment

 

                                                                    How long ago had she demanded
                                                                    I walk without her
                                                                    the length of one evening,
                                                                    my assignment written on the black sky:
                                                                    A haunting, I was to repeat her name
                                                                    as I walked the pitch circuit.
                                                                    There would be no other test.
                                                                    A single name, the erotic vocable
                                                                    my only companion. Breath-
                                                                    after-name-filled breath, not even dry leaves
                                                                    spoke beneath my shoes.  Days
                                                                    beneath my shoes, weeks.
                                                                    Soon, the sea change.
                                                                    Nerves splayed in silence from my step,
                                                                    rays on the invisible plain. 
                                                                    Did I hover on the bouyant, salted sea,
                                                                    a skinless body? I grew
                                                                    weightless, like a pioneer
                                                                    come to measure
                                                                    the distance of his soul
                                                                    under the lightless dome
                                                                    of the deprivation tank.
                                                                    Years swept by like protons,
                                                                    white shards on silver.
                                                                    Once you enter the pinhole, she warned,
                                                                    space expands like a womb. 
                                                                    Do you want this, she warned.
                                                                    I aspired in air, my breath
                                                                    no longer her name.
                                                                    I was a possession, a word-sheath.
                                                                    I was the infinite next.
                                                                    In the next town a caution light
                                                                    matched my chant.  The word
                                                                    as inversion, as changeling.
                                                                    I followed, as if on a road.
                                                                   As if homeward.

 


FOR POETRY