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(17 April 1955 / Calgary / Alberta / Canada)

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The Cold

There was a cold
In which

A line of water across the chest risen
(dream)

Impetuate, or
Impetuates

Orthograph you cherish, a hand her
Of doubt importance

Her imbroglio the winnowing of ever
Does establish

An imbroglio, ever
she does repeatedly declare

to no cold end
Admonish wit, at wit's end, where "wit" is

***

The cold of which
her azul gaze impart a stuttered pool

Memoria address me here (green)

Echolalic fear
Her arm or name in French says "smooth"

A wine-dark seam inside the head, this name
The "my" head I admit, or consonantal glimmer

Insoluble
Or wet fields the vines or eucalyptus wood

Lift from, here

***

Whose cartilage did grief still bear?
Whose silent wound?
Who submitted?
Who fortuitously was grave?
A trepidation honest
Whose declaration met silence?
Whose demurred?
Whose wall shored up became
houses?
Whose "will"?

Whose sympathetic concatenation? Whose picture
withstood "ordeal"?
Who caressed "that tiger"?
Whose laugh at an airport called forth? Whose ground
shifted?


Anonymous submission.

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003


Read poems about / on: tiger, grief, silence, green, water, dream, fear, dark, wind, rose

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Comments about this poem (The Cold by Erin Mouré )

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  • THE FIRST SHRIKE (4/7/2007 3:19:00 PM)

    I appreciate the poem for it's will, or so it is that you have spoken.For when a lion truely roar's the ground can't help but shift.

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