The wind rifles itself up
under the cold stars;
it fills the pockets of trees,
announces itself at my arm; I have nothing to
explain to it, a man just comes this far
under the footsteps of heaven.
I explain love, I explain death, I explain
the blood charging to my hand. No use.
It wants to see how I am doing; by entering my head,
by thinning out the bones on darkest nights.
It wants to seek me out, growing
from the eyeholes like twin flowers, to enter my
mouth and snake back out, like the words I could never say.
It wants that much.
I am waiting. And what I explain
is for the one behind me, old shyness, old friend,
boy that I was. I want you to understand what keeps
your shadow growing.
From The Tough Romance (Guernica, 1990)
NOTE: Pier Giorgio Di Cicco is
Poet Laureate of the City of Toronto
