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Date Posted: 17:56:23 07/24/01 Tue
Author: Wendy
Author Host/IP: 208.219.109.207
Subject: Phantasm

PHANTASM



You were she who abode
by those red-veined rocks far west,
you were the swan-necked one who rode
along the beetling, Beeny crest….
Thomas Hardy


A slender neck of white
lures in the haze-veiled ships
and the wind like a woman’s anger
that stirs the ocean and rips
the linen sheet of sky in half;
shreds of blue and shreds of gray
while a ragged hem of sorrel
erupts in fire along the bay.

Deep in solitary thought,
air and tower blend to free
the figure of a maiden
from the sullen reverie
of elements mingling like tints
on the tip of the painter’s brush
and sea gulls shattering fragments
of white porcelain into the hush
of a late afternoon glide.


The beautiful specter runs slow
abroad the knuckled fist of stone;
and rises like the steam of tea
with her vaporous gown of silk
and sunlight steeping her hair
in gilt, a radiant blend
of weather and rueful despair.

Yes, a wild fragrance she rises
thorns of sorrow, hips of a rose
within her as she treads nakedness
in the sheer fluency of clothes.
Her spiritual garments are fleeting
like the day as she passes beyond
the line of sight and lighthouse left -
a bleached conductor’s wand
to guide the soft arranged melody
of dusk as it drifts in with the wave
and seaweed floating submissive
as Ophelia in her watery grave.

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