Insomnia, The Romantic Strain

A strange melancholy was stealing over me,
a melancholy that I would not have interrupted
Joseph Sheridan La Fanu

Storm leaves borne
in the mouth of a stone bat
offer frail light

while houses lament their power
including mine. The gargoyle
seems more
than a rain spout, a beacon

drawing that distant face
of a lady veiled
in black silk, sheer
as the sky-fallen dusk.

I remember
following her shadow
verse after verse
lit by a table lamp
and glass of rosé.


I sucked on pear slices
between page four
and page five.
She bit the neck
of a priest and left
her quotation marks
in blood......signaling

words would rise later
when he moaned her name
and wanted a continuance
of love, of life
beyond Winter. The harvest
was still being gathered;
and only the best prospects
would be chosen, preserved
in her plasma.

Yellow quivers slightly
inside the jaws
of the Gothic bat, his wings
catching single
drops of rain, last details
from Clarimonde's song

that need to soak in,
and sate the bones
with that immortal ache
of longing, a pale trace
of mint.

_____________________________________

The gothic image is by artist, Linda Bergkvist.