Dear A

Dear A	

The Days of Awe again   atonement 
and your letter, A, and the doubled arrogant I 	      the sea out of which
            the gods crawled		Anyway
the last place	I saw you 	I remember it now
the chartered airplane	the cathedral of its vaulted ceiling
missing its bulkhead	the oxygenated mist
pumping out of its vents in feeble cough-like bursts     it was air
                we were slaves to it        we breathed it

The sentiment or	the sediment of 
a dream like rust-flecks
at the bottom of a wine glass	its dregs	
metallic 	aftertaste        	         the drag of the tide 	
                                                         Aphrodite’ frothy after-birth          I can still feel	     around my ankles
as I drift off	fingering the necklace of black 
         Cypriot glass      yoke-heavy	


One eye	 always turned inward	One
eye always in love	but
the love	      impersonal
        One late 	Spring
last Spring evening	the pleasant prickling

A word please, A

	affection appetite
apparition	a possible reunion
with the dead in dreams       It was a raging
Out of which	the gods


The apocalypse reveals itself     is itself
a revelation

When I still smoked 
I used to dream repeatedly 
                  of setting myself on fire     with my own 
inattention       I was always dropping embers down my dress
                        I was always putting my self out

It is October and there are swarms
of children dressed as bees

Is this the afterlife?


All the exits 
are marked 	      are a kind 
of entrance	Is that too easy?
Obviously	some houses only have one
                      door	other houses
many doors      other houses 
          no doors at all
just holes
archaically           I will keep 
                                  corralling the chaos
my other father tells me	until it is sufficiently 
tamed	I even sweep garbage
into shapes 	that I like


Text becomes breath        or your 
breath becomes 
                   a glyph scored
into the first frost        into the crust
of rime
on the glass of a window      and then my breath      again 
                    erases it

Always the world      over-awed     Wedded 
then widowed
of our ardor, A      we were all slaves 
to our appetites then     slaves
             to water and air  	   	   
all of us rejects of the famed Heart Institute

All the world!      All the world!         is how you say it
to be changed


To be the last one left       or to be the last 
to leave       the saddest room   
always there is                the temptation to close 
the door 
behind me     I have become private
an asp wound in the spiraled maze of itself

Alone together, A	is the condition
alone in the presence of	     an other
   also alone       also in one’s presence 
also together  
is the condition     the reverie       out of which
      the gods crawl	

we form      the sea between us	 we formulate 
the sea out of which the gods
                               we formulate the gods

Dear A
Where do I go 
to meet you now? 

— Genya Turovskaya

Filed under: Séance (Writing), Spirit LettersTagged with: ,