poem with subtitles
walking around with her by the factory
describing a dream you once had
the eaves of the factory and icicles
this a girl who
wears mittens, who has to wear them
and so you’re wondering about the hands
a dream in the manner of a Degas
sculpture
held tight to itself like that
like his dancers
the dark liquid warm bronze of his for example
sealed like a letter
it could have been there
in a replica by the doorway, beside the coat rack
where you put your coat on
one of his, Little Dancer or Spanish Dance
or a Tiffany lamp which
perhaps she was beginning to rub
today
saying a name over it
not a Degas name but another name
one that’s been on your tongue-tip for some time
that’s been hiding there, like a shape
taking itself out of the cheek
a Rodin name
one which makes the lesson grow great now
great given that rather more amorphous quality
of his the hands particularly
where they touch each other
rising out from the breast to reach one another
across the great
unbelievable distance of the body
the ground
and the baby birds, for instance
freezing in this weather but for no other reason than
they have a raincoat
they have a mother that is
against this great reality
lifting their necks up, almost