Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Laughing With Ice


I am ready to begin
laughing with ice,
to watch the poet
seashell
himself
into the milk of the moon
again and again.
How many flowers
have fallen
constricted by the memory
of greed?
Brother against brother,
the challenge of glowing coals
surrounds us.
Now that I am blind,
armed
with violin and flute,
the crescendo of color
waves its flag in my face
like a poor musician
struggling to be heard
above the roar of the crowd.
It is as if I were
alone on the sand
collecting pebbles
so that others may speak.
Time after time
I have crowned
the queen,
remembering
the power of orange skies,
her thighs,
a bit of foam,
and the garden
where all my tulips
wait
to rise.