Like the pressure of twin fingers
Upon my cheek, my throat, my hand,
I feel two unseen eyes behold me
And with that unseen look, command.
And though my bed and home are warm
And though the garden air is chill
And though I catch the iron rails
I must obey that Other’s will.
For all the flowering vines are traitors;
About my wrists, they twist and rove;
Their thorns constrain my striving will
And bind me for their scarlet love.
And when the shadows part I see
A darkness draw to where I kneel;
The moonlight strikes me like a sword;
I cannot fly, can only feel.
O, tell me, how do you compel
My blighted ardor, to you consigned?
I feel the fetters at my wrists,
But what are those about my mind?
This poem was written as a companion/response poem to Edward Carney’s “Nocturnal Volition.”