Prelude

for Mallarme, Eliot and Debussy

1.

Winter.

all afternoon she has written letters.

and as the lane turns lonelier,

she stands in the snow,

weak, by the red postbox…

not knowing whom to send
the three letters…

she has written all afternoon.

2.

then fire devours the neighbourhood

snowflakes electric

and the red box sucks her inside…

she falls…

she pierces the black earth
like a cold needle…

through violins and screams
she falls…

3.

the dead receive her
in that dark city…

she stands among ghosts now

the priest
the poet
the queen

all dead. all ugly.

they were waiting for her letters.

In that dark city.

4.

there is a river
at one end of the city…

the boatman calls out,

his ghost resembles an old lover

he rows her
to that part of the river…

where night and day merge wings

the sky is fire and purple,
the orgasm.

5.

she remembers her neighbourhood,

the snow…
and the red postbox that devoured her

she remembers the eyes of the dead

that the letters made
so happy…

and a god stabs her with light.

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