Kingdoms of Heaven
endless movie. You
walk in, sit down in the dark, it
draws you into itself.
an old man crosses
the field of vision, his passions
gathering to the brim of his soul.
bow and straighten,
the pulse of wind irregular,
gleam of twilight.
Anything, the attention
never wavers. A woman, say,
who is sleeping or laughing or making
Stir of time, the sequence
returning upon itself, branching
a new way. To suffer, pains, hope.
lives in it as a poem lives or a song
going under the skin of memory.
Or, to believe it’s there
though the key’s missing
makes it enough? As if
golden pollen were falling
onto your hair from dark trees.