Occasional Impressions

Gemini 3

Our Lady of Vladimir

Climbs the child, confident,
up over breast, arm, shoulder;
while she, alarmed by his bold thrust
into her face, & the encircling hand,
looks out imploring fearfully
and, o, she cries, from her immeasurable eyes,
o how he clings, see how
he smothers every pore, like the soft
shining mistletoe to my black bark,
she says, I cannot breathe, my eyes
are aching so.

The child has overlaid us in our beds,
we cannot close our eyes,
his weight sits firmly,
fits over heart & lungs,
& choked we turn away
into the window of immeasurable dark
to shake off the insistent pushing warmth;
o how he cleaves, no peace
tonight my lady in your bower,
you, like us, restless with bruised eyes
and waking to

a shining cry on the black bark of sleep.

rdw

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