Diane Dehler

Insomnium

There is an

intuitive link in

my mind where

you once were.  I

still feel your  pulse,

soft and steady as

a heartbeat.  Since

you disappeared, I

am condemned to

live a nightmare that

sleeps with one eye

awake.

I can no longer slumber

for I was left to hold up a

dying sky, the night set

with fractured stars. You

haven’t escaped either

for you became a new

branch on a Cecille

Brunner bush covered

with tiny rose buds

that will not open.  No

matter how much the

sun pleads.

My nightmare

conjures you. I bring

you back using spare

parts of corpses and

artificial organs.  Little

Frankenstein in ruby

lipstick. God that I were

sleep.  That to me came

the night hour in stillness

with the scent and

black perfection of

Hades.

I am an Angel of the

Styx with no dreams,

no cool slice of moon

for consolation.  The moon

drops its silver veil of light

and I rub your features off. 

–Suddenly no face, no

memory.  One life dies and

you enter another in the

same liturgy.  Both a

requiem and christening

in one moment.

Wherever you are,

whatever exquisite face is

drawn upon you belongs

to me also.  Ghost & I

must sleep before this night

is over.  This dark sonata

will lull us into a white linen

purgatory.  -Your child

between us.  -Childhood’s

cheek against mine.  Dawn

without sleep arrives

waiting- still haunted.

*

Changeling

As a child the changeling was

Somber and grave although her

Face would sometimes alight

Changing from sorrow to joy in

A moment of mystery.  As she

Grew the changeling settled

Into an enduring sadness.  No

Longer did her star quick eyes

Flash into sudden brilliance.

Changeling, murmured a dark

Brown wren.  Changeling, sounded

Out the knocking motion in her

Legs.  Changeling, breathed the

Darkening wind.  Changeling, said

The sun cracking its thick thumbs

Against her tightly latched window

Shutters.  The changeling shuddered

Hating intrusion beyond all else.

Changeling or not she said aloud,

I must be about my work.  Pulling

On a long dark cape she drew up

The hood.  Stepping out into

October dusk she disappeared

Forever.  - To search for a fallen

star or a raven with a hurt wing.

Or whatever else the unchanging

Sadness of the heart finds.

*

Umbilical Cord

A sixth finger

tied off with a

butcher string

pushed swollen &

bruised against

a taut cord.

It was a human

with a wishbone

caught tightly in

its throat.  And

gradually the pain

eased as it shriveled.

At intervals it

would resist anew

pulling against the

line that bound it.

It became brittle like

a dried up starfish.

Like a withered

umbilical cord it

no longer protested.

It was a baby shark

a fisherman had

just killed.

© Diane Dehler

 ///