Even the eye can forget its tears,
the mouth its fondest lamentations.
Face pressed, attentive, to the glass,
the world’s a wheel, a shadow box,
a zoetrope with slits through which
we glimpse a strip of paper where
horses and birds are drawn. The wind
spins it around, or waves of air rising
warm from the lamp on which it rests:
cunningly, limbs leap from frame to
frame, crest obstacles, fluoresce.
But there’s no other word for this
wobbly apparatus of our discontent.
[LAG-signature date=”02 12 2012″ url=”http://morningporch.com/2012/02/159122352/”]
Oh, I love this one!
Luisa’s Illusion inspired this Valentine’s day poem in http://ambitsgambit.blogspot.com/2012/02/i-grow-old-two-ones.html and in Facebook (I Grow Old: Two Poems (“A Sun-drenched Place” and “Poro Point” (revised)