Mendoza, from “Northumberland Poems”

from VeerAbout (edited by Adrian Clarke & William Rowe, Veer Books, 2011)

mem

anxious shifts of rhythm

months pass and we don't speak

beth [a house]

the hollow of the hand a door

he

[a window]

si

is written on face

is sharp is bite acute

Still winter, perhaps.

I forget the thread – no,

there we were,

legs [yello / rust]

thigh on thigh

arched in exhibition

emerge and

slip .  your hair,

braided

                 exit against

harsh winter light.

decomposing towns no longer

gleaming                        southbound

                                                       lines /

                                             askew

we love the reverb

we

echo in your sounding

chamber

am not a song writer.  I hang from a single

                                        chord, crude and

                                     darkening

                    drifts and

sky,

undulating inarticulate lines my

indolent lips                             my

mouth

on your throat