I am the whisper
matches rattle
in their cold
and boxy hovels.
I’m desire
gone to ground.
I am efficient,
almost secret;
you can read in me
such scripture
of the most compacted
and contented
red-light district.
Impish sample seraph,
in lust,
I am the apocryphalest
rumor waiting
just around the corner.
See me meekly,
furtive, simmer;
I am bright and quiet;
I am blithe and ardent;
I am softly, briefly
urging: Garner in
my hand-cupped
spark and I
will make
your faring warmer,
yearnful, closer,
wider, darker.

The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Access one piece of artwork every month for free! To experience the full archive, log in or subscribe.

Pin It on Pinterest