“She Left for Paradise”
She left for paradise just the yesterday
Admitted freely through an unlocked door,
A chance escape from where she was to just above the second floor,
Or possibly to the attic or the basement, at any rate away
Thank God, from where she thought she was while nothing gleaned
From nothing’s not that different and labelling’s all the same–
Even heaven must have names.
She stops by some disaffected spa, a coffee bar
To reconnoitre–cats do this. Something
Cold or hot, it makes no difference in the clutch
Of notions chosen wisely for the subway; nothing much,
But once arrived, the touch to give the right appearance–rings
And bracelets, no, but, yes, an i-Phone–finds a vacant chair within the class.
And while she sits, her thoughts are peach fuzz, powdered, smooth.
She’s posed a thousand questions placing each
Within a different light, a different wrap,
Disguises subtle as the traps
Devised for God-knows-why, and meant to reach
The station of a star not unlike her own; to hit the spot,
Delight, to actuate the possibilities:
An infinite momentum in the finite plausibilities,
Intransitive infinitives on the screen and incense lit with tiny candles hot
To touch, but only in the instant. Or while she waits perhaps
A second gilded thought is clearly written on the pristine ceiling
To make a wash of brackish classroom backgrounds, bleed
The many colours on the furthest wall to one when what is apt
To run is total loss of memory, samsara gleaned from evening pains,
And canvases measured not in strokes, but languid drops of rain.