The Word ‘Silk’
by Thomas McCarthy

      after Joao Cabral de Melo Neto

Through your love words became clear,
were born again with a strange vigour,
like flat lines transformed through prayer,

or the sudden uncovering of oneself in verse,
the pleasure of a consummate image
or, coming from your lips, the word ‘Silk.’

The word ‘Silk’; a silk scarf brought
to the surface of your mysterious person,
a cat’s tail stroking my face, insistent, taut;

and the word ‘Sedative’ that I take from ‘Silk’:
it is certain that you never induced sleep
but caused an animal awakeness, a wild

muscular presence, whenever you stopped to talk
or touch. The way  ‘Silk’ flowed from you
when you left the car, I could see my words walk

across the road, down the Institute avenue:
and like a cat, or perishable silk, you peeled
away; coming and going, gradually working loose.

Yesterday, you zoomed past in your small blue
car, waving furiously. Under the trees in the Mall
a woman fed swans. Age. Compassion. I knew

that our love would have been a pointless web
of memory had it not altered so many words,
informed by feeling; Love, Love-Touch. . .Silk.

Happy Sunday.

Just a short one today … but a classic

Young American Primitive ~ Sunrise (The last half of the piece never fails to amaze and delight, even after twenty-five years.)

Here’s the whole album (an afterthought).

If you want something a little more mellow, here’s Global Communication …

Pentamerous Metamorphosis