Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Peg Duthie


(after Kyo's "Le Chemin," covered by Les Enfoir├ęs)

The wind shreds apart the spine of your song
even before you let go of its words.
You might as well be shouting to yourself,
pounding thorns into your own palms.

O lover, I'd give neither a fig nor a damn
for your punctured walls, your ruptured veins
but how (god damn) you are under my skin.

You hiss, "Je te hais de tout mon corps."
I hear, "Je te vais de tuer mon coeur" --
or is it "je te vais de tuer, mon coeur"?
If hate could kill, the grit of your ashes

would have scratched up my eyes
long before these latest vowels
began as a burn in your throat. O love,

only the whole wide world is between
your lips and mine, all of it crumbling
into commas, fishhooks, and quarter-rests:
I taste your fire in the ghost of your breath.