Poems by Darcy J. Scholts

Cliff Cabinet

I opened the bare chest of evening and translated
the great hunger of the sky.  Each night

I hoped it would tell a different flavor of milk.  Each time
it dried up a tentative lake, sadder than I would have swept away.

I heard it, not only when I enclosed all my
letters in bottles

away on the ledge of the cave until the ravens
dropped underground.

What was left, a sideways woman’s face with mad eyes that held sunset
and I interpreted the vast doubt that spoke of wandering

but mostly hesitating and sedentary.  I consoled myself, heavy with honey,
I bolted myself to a zebra.  I ached by the spoonful.

I opened the hinges and the cliff face to let the raindrops in,
I pulled clouds with my bare hands dragging my star curtain

cold as day old coffee as I kissed the uncertain depth, an ear
turned toward the series of cracks and painted horses

tied to a string, held by the moon.
And then the pounding stopped.  If I break

the many silences will the mail
arrive?

I am consumed with moss: an inch of soft carpet and tiny sprouts
and what may sing and spring off the circular russet brick,

lying in wait inside them.  What toothy creature lives there,
breeds brothers?  An open letter to the wide

world is not a metaphor.
I wrench it open each day,

I leave the old cocoons
crumpled on the asphalt.

===

Primordial Night

In the holy time
the round gate of bursting
moon danced and rolled,
descended to meet you
at the window,

her spring tide tapping,
looking in at your wasting ebb.
You were waiting
for the great dance to begin.
You welcomed each other
with open arms.

The window opened,
drape veil flowing aside
in spirit wind,
and you sailed into forever.

And all around the city
the colors you always loved
took shape in ribbons and bits
of woven glistening things,

felt and fur and jewels,
star drops and pomegranate seeds
getting in our eyes and hair
showing up everywhere.

They bounced with the raindrops
off mossy paving stones,
soaked into our thirsty ground.

In the creak and hum of day
we can see you in every rainbow.
In the  primordial windswept night
we remember you in our skin.