of spiders and water

I heard them

flying across the sky

despite myself and the longing that

they were not real...

I hear he went France

I remembered Agincourt,

so many graves

and the knave skewered

on his own sword

pretending it was just a dream,

but we were standing there

carefree and five years short

of seventeen.

There are bats circling

on this- a cool august evening,

I watch for the men

of eight legs or arms

to creep silently

unhinged through the night,

women speak in verse

I find myself terse

turned on or off from their ramblings.

Rabies is an affliction

that gives us reason

to foam readily at the mouth

and my southwards lips

shift as my hips,

dance with longing forgotten

steeped in dealt blows-

I am slow to return

Yet do

                as I must.

While the endless thrust of blood

same type and route

delivers notes of music,

she hears despite my muting

of sounds

found only in ways to deafen,

spreading five fingers

and palm over ears.

Here is the truth

deeply interred to recur,

yet we repent not a leisure

head swimming under

sacrifices of ones own lies

There is no poets act,

no chiming chords to accompany

the cacophony of wailing

sailing into seas,

deep oceans of uncertain living.

I cannot forgive

despite having read my own explanation,

realisations-

they are coming

I feel their limbs

clambering over me,

her waking fitfulness to letters

addresses with first names only.

There is always the river

but it offers no consolation,

she has already staked it

as her own home

and I am known to its waters.

Slaughter is a word we associate

with death

of a body,

but when will you see

it is more a death of memory

and soul

I am mute beneath fluid,

daughter- mother-  lover

none.

inescapable the melody

I hear it now

Playing....

it knows only this,

the resonance of my name.

Copyright: Samantha Ledger 2011