225 days under grass
and you know more than I.
they have long taken your blood,
you are a dry stick in a basket.
is this how it works?
in this room
the hours of love
still make shadows.
when you left
you took almost
everything.
I kneel in the nights
before tigers
that will not let me be.
what you were
will not happen again.
the tigers have found me
and I do not care.
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Comments
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"I kneel in the nights
before tigers" And the end is so final, so complete. -
worthwhile.
To my mind, this is biting, harsh, yes, though not in cold or desolate way. I approve of this:
You are a dry stick in a basket.
That is unflinching, unapologetic imagery. -
One of my favorite writers. Buk was in many ways such a harsh, bitter man. But this poem and another by him about Jane are some of his best. I admire his style and his honesty in his work. He didn't ever mince words, especially not in his short stories.
These two lines are just brilliant:
"the hours of love
still make shadows"
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