Postcard, Machine (#2)
The machine that is your heart
glows until the bulbs shatter
like broken fingernails
and scatter across the ocean. You
have gone about it all wrong: beauty
is understated, beauty is abstract. I want
to go to the ends of the earth on a boat
with you, then come back unchanged.
O impossibility, O slingshot lake,
O forest of trees through which, the moon.
And a Buddhist temple, and a spot to make love.
But this is not a love poem; I can?t bear it.
I can only bear the concreteness of white,
the sturdy profusion of roses on the climber,
the faithful sungolds littering the soil. Orbs.
Do not fear your heart, my friend.
Do not fear the light in the machine.