Song To Her/Song To Him

I’m lying where the creatures feed,

the shallow hope, the urgent need,

and in this pool of crippled dreams,

I carve a night of stifled screams.

She’s gone, she’s gone,

the song’s so bare,

her graceful eyes

are everywhere,

the moon, the snow,

the mountains creep,

the gods of silence

watch her sleep.

And somewhere on her moonlit brow,

she brings her past into the now,

she talks of loving songs and death,

you rent a bedroom on her breath.

She takes you where the vision sings

of caterpillars, birds and kings,

and if she sees you one more time,

you’ll write a poem made of wine.

You’ll call until her locks of hair

are spilling moon-dust everywhere,

you’ll call until her eyes grow dark,

and ghostly shadows raid the park.

But in your bedroom soft and plain,

she’ll mispronounce your tattooed name,

…collect the speeches in your head,

and write a song to him instead.

© Danny Gunzburg 2012