Fall 2007
Her death came forth
fresh from the camellias no one knew when
she entered their breath What they said of
her was smoke and satin weighted in song
What they thought was woman imperious for
Rilke and cigarettes hoping hard for
her wicker chair in the wild field, longing
dazed to be kissed senseless, saddle-bagged with
poverty’s skirt and tie, her paradigm
the garret artist in a forties dressing gown
pale pages, petals’ lyric waste lay
grey in her room with the fallen white
lady-flowers old with their spill she will
not now arrange them among the ash,
not wash the dirty dish its word stays un-
written on her table to the dawn where
early death came kissing young, he was kissing
her, kissing smoke and satin down
(Previously published on the Tupelo Press Poetry Project site, July 2007, under the title "Midden of Dreams.")
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