
jESSE C GAULT
STILL? STILL.
When the subway graffiti atop the ashes of
our own world becomes primitive cave art &
shelter for the next, &
after
When the stars above are swallowed out,
When there is no surface left for light to
glisten on,
no light left at all
When we are dispersed somewhere else in
space,
alive somehow else
in another frame of time-
I'll still turn to your spacedust, nonvisible
self, & say –
"Damn baby,
I can't believe you're mine"
A MEMORY OF A SWEET DREAM
fading afternoon
wrapped around you
in the golden cardigan
you were wearing
wreathes & ringlets
of autumnal light
at the edges of your dark
hair curling
each season held
in a smile,
summer & spring
winter & fall
you brilliantly beam to all
& the sight
is enough to make all
of time stall