Continuum by Allen Curnow

The moon rolls over the roof and falls behind

my house, and the moon does neither of these things,

I am talking about myself.

It’s not possible to get off to sleep or

the subject or the planet, nor to think thoughts.

Better barefoot it out the front.

door and lean from the porch across the privets

and the palms into the washed-out creation,

a dark place with two particular

bright clouds dusted (query) by the moon, one’s mine

the other’s an adversary, which may depend

on the wind, or something.

A long moment stretches, the next one is not

on time. Not unaccountably the chill of

the planking underfoot rises.

in the throat, for it’s part the night sky empties

the whole of it’s contents down. Turn on a bare

heel, close the door behind

on the author, cringing demiurge, who picks up

his litter and his tools and paces me back

to bed, stealthily in step.

Advertisements

10 thoughts on “Continuum by Allen Curnow

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s