place me like a seal over your heart; love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. it burns like a blazing fire, like a mighty flame.
there is an army of lovers
somewhere in the countryside,
making their way towards our city,
a lover’s army following a frail
basil-eyed bride following a lion.
we are the industrial jericho,
no angry, bearded, thundercloud
god to topple our unfalling walls.
before my blue eyes faded grey, i wore a cherry
blossom behind my ear, far
before i met the north wind and his furtive
invitation up the brown bottle stairs
an alaskan harbour.
i married the boats and their seabirds,
i married the ships and their holds,
to keep the wind at bay
before i knew the wind and his sister,
the arctic sea, had slipped into the hollow
of my chest, a whistling cradle leaking cold.
the lovers sing, beardless, coral-cheeked,
cherry-blossom eyed;
our city grows slick and silver.
she steps beside the lion,
his mane aflame.
they are chanting:
