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Ioanna Warwick
The Soul in September (Nocturne)
I'm doing exercises
in loving myself.
It's like gymnastics,
before the mirror.
Carissima Ioannissima,
I whisper,let those s's go polyphonic,
serpentine in autumnal Eden.
The crickets pulse against
the swoosh of traffic.
Blue evening windows wait
for the milk of first fog.Today I asked myself,
"What are we made of?"
And answered,
"Of simpler parts."
Cricket by cricket,
we create this autumn night.One cricket is near
and the others far:
a baroque concerto
with a virtuoso soloist.
A moth circles the kitchen light.
I begin to hum.Lone human upon the hill,
I climb the hidden
music of the sky.
Pulse by neural pulse,
we create our own constellations
before the mirror of the stars.O coal turning into diamond,
are we made by love or pain?
O moth lucent over flame,
tell me which is best.
Across the dusk,
an owl spells a soundless yes.
Copyright Ioanna Warwick 2004. All rights reserved.
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