To the left and right of a photograph of Kafka
I have taped to the mirror in my room
I’ve placed a fish.
Because Kafka loved fish and would never
eat them.
At half past twelve
last night
Dylan Thomas appeared simultaneously
in my great mirror and at the window
with a red-hot hand in his mouth
Now I stop writing poems
you can throw your gold ring in the sea
where it will rest beside a skull in the sand
and all the sunken ships will rise from the foam
with the captain breathing
and the sailors grinning
Don’t fear the iron moon
said the orange broken inside me
don’t fear the darkening sun
the ruined coffins
the mother of rain without eyes
don’t fear the black wings
of birds
inside your head