Unnamed

 

Its colourless mouth has shaped unseizable words

 

you in yourself circle where you still my arms to return  ready-made

 

without boundaries it gives a lake a last clean

 

takes on shadow substance but the place already and again opening its tender

 

bearing tears of cold childhood directions all fluid impossible

 

and night transparent your skeleton clothes has skin arrived

 

and always another inside you I wanted fluids lips could instrument

 

the pulse of petals in their suspended unfolding

 

and vertical again only no longer touching remain open

 

I and together unfrozen of eyes have wandered near mouths

 

the hidden it under your door I the answered opening on melt

 

and fingers gentle the clean cry my small body facedown

 

 

*

 

Ian Seed is editor of http://www.shadowtrain.com. He teaches at the University of Chester (UK). His latest publication is a collection of prose poems, Makers of Empty Dreams (Shearsman, 2014).

 

 

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