John Ashbery: “The Skaters”

The Bodice

		There is a special something in this for the
		Inkwell. There are oranges.
		The first time you hit the ball it was
		Impossible to see the dust.

		It has a special charm for the hearts. heads?
		Inkwell. There is orange dust
		The impossible time you killed the fall.
		The camera photographed the dust.

		The dust is special. There is dust everywhere.
		The way you dealt with the oranges
		The time you were killed--your body
		Propelling dust. They photographed you.

		There was no special reason why they should have chosen you,
		The way the oranges of your body flared, you
		Had killed his love for your body
		That was taking pictures of you.

		The hod-carrier stopped. For this reason alone
		Your body took over. Write it in orange ink,
		Please. Love, once more,
		And the impossible situation of the pictures.

		The reason the hod-carrier, perhaps,
		Your body, orange and full of grass.
		Please. Forget the offer of love
		Or the impossible will return to your hand.

		Perhaps the hod-carrier had not voiced
		The orange barley, wheat and grass
		Those flags the altar of love
		And I return, impossible, to give you my hand.

		The hod, vivid, and the air of the morning
		Pierced with fresh satisfactions, and alarm.
		Flags altered, love of places.
		The land is returning. The painted stream.

		By the time they got the filter working, the passageway'd
		Gone all silver. The tin bathroom was closed.
		It was now impossible to return to the flag.
		The floor {slowly} reunited their dreams in a single hand.
		JA  May 1962