NorthwardPoetry

Zalinka

Tom MacInnes

1

Last night in a land of triangles,

I lay in a cubicle, where

A girl in pyjamas and bangles

Slept with her hands in my hair.

2

I wondered if either or neither

Of us were properly there,

Being subject to queer aberrations--

Astral and thin aberrations--

Which leave me no base to compare:

No adequate base to compare:

But her hands with their wristful of bangles,

Were certainly fast in my hair,

While the moon made pallid equations

Thro’a delicate window there.

3

I was glad that she slept for I never

Can tell what the finish will be:

What enamoured, nocturnal endeavour

May end in the killing of me:

But, in the moonlight obscure

Of that silken, somniferous lair,

Like a poet consumed with a far lust

Of things unapproachably fair

I fancied her body of stardust-

Pounded of spices and stardust-

Out of the opulent air.

4

Then the moon, with its pale liquidations,

Fell across her in argentine bars,

And I thought: this is fine—but to-morrow

What cut of Dawn’s cold scimitars

Will sever my hold on this creature-

I mean of this creature on me?

Amorous creature of exquisite aura-

Marvel of dark glamourie.

5

What joy of folly then followed

Is beyond my expression in rhyme:

And I do not expect you to grasp it

When I speak of expansions of time:

Of reaching and zooming serenely

As it were at right angles to time:

Knowing well you will think, on your level,

This was only a dream indiscreet-

Or experience quite indiscreet:

But little I care in this instance,

What you do or do not think discreet:

O utterance futile, but sweet,

Like a parrot I pause and repeat,

In delight of my own and for nothing,

To myself I repeat and repeat:

6

Last night in a land of triangles,

I lay in a cubicle where

A girl in pyjamas and bangles

Slept with her hands in my hair.