The Lunatic

Frank Stanford

Somewhere out there a craft is travelling
Through black and fmal space.

It is built of light wood
Darker than this desk.

The dead trees of silence
Spread their naked legs,

Lying to us
Through their teeth.

And so our senses lie,
Forming the capillary systems

Of night and the universe,
A still moon of fire

Like a willow near the water,
Or a quiet bed.

An ancient stone
Is following this ship,

Music
Like a weightless anchor

Of form and line
Caedmon's dream.

But we are deaf,
Timeless engineers of sleep,

Draftsmen of space
Designing tool sheds for death.

Listen,
All I know is this desk

Is a swarm of stars,
Tadpoles in orbit,

And Nothing on earth is solid.
Innocent blood

Passes between light and myself.
So far

As I know,
It has not risen,

It has not taken my life
Or a journey without me.

Ginny Stanford