Su Zi

incantation

I open the veil

on my pulsing white throat is a pink sweet breeze

the memory of all that is coconut and oval,

and the thick roar of your Indian blood concealed

in the calloused calm of your hand

where there is alcohol twisting your mouth

there is a gash on my membrane

where there is a scar on your scalp, or a twist of my hair

there is the throb of Pontiac like arrows

to my pelvis

where there are dogs that flicker in the night,

dark flames against the frozen lake

(with its thrust up boulders of ice

and voluptuous luminosity)

there is a sigh of skin

protect against horrified...

against my premonition that my face

will be buried alive

in snowblasted white rock

protect against invisible saliva

and the number of war or distress

my finger is burnt, the glass has rung, the

candle is black, you are not home,

but the wind

the wind will sing for a thousand years