Sunday, July 4, 2010

Ode to Meris*

Meris, she seeks the eye-shaped
skeletal leaves, glow worms
shed by ancient autumns,
Her hand in vacant hover
invokes invisible moths.
Merihim! you, fallen angel
Meris, iris, Isis!
Soft tendril over
broken moonbeams.

Her scratching nib
sprouts leafy landscapes
Meris , Meresin,
The dark air before
the birth of a word-
a cloud, a song, a poem
Merisin, my sin, my medicine
Pain, yes, but bliss too.
my mood-swing, you moor wind!

A flame of pink
sprung from a grisaille paradise.
Not real, arboreal-
a mist of sunset, a roll of rainbow-
Merasin, mirage, a desert dream-
a potent purple poison,
tanha, tamanna
She, a treasure, a torment,
a blooming buttercup
Meris, my bitter cup.

* Insipred by Lorca's Ode to Salvador Dali
Picture above: Paper butterflies I made for my sister's birthday.