Persephone. Персефона

PERSEPHONE’S RETURN

I’m a backward
sound of myself.
I twist, I turn

through sheer virulence
of habit sleep
that measures me in bursts

of agony. I am Persephone.
Need I say more? I ask, I bless.
I speak the raw material of memory:

only flowers here still recall the dead.
I am a green begonia.
I am a red

petal on the stem of morning.
I am, I am…
Black sweetness,

save me from these shattered
words, repetitive illusions.
I am dark, uncountable.

I am the meaning of a syllable
the ancients said and dropped.
I am the one the clouds dream of

when their vapor eyes are shut.
The weeping wall, the nakedness of heart…
Disinterestedness, now let me go.

You said: it’s guaranteed–
the backward glance, the exit,
the twisting back, back, back…

Now let me go, beauty grass.
Your kisses pain me
like all that dies pains that which doesn’t.

I am the eye-nerve of your marriage,
grassy sky.
I ask, I bless.