the amended lustre of the self

Here's another favourite John Burnside poem, as taken from his pictured, 2007 collection --- really is worth seeking out if you haven't read much of his poetry:


THE BODY AS METAPHOR

We only imagine it ends
like childhood, or rain:
fever, the purl in the bone, the amended
lustre of the self, all shell and glitter,

as if it had long been decided
that flesh is a journey,
something immense in the blood,
like a summer of locusts,

or something not quite visible, but quick
as birchseed or the threading of a wire
through sleep and rapture, gathering the hand
that reaches from the light, to close or open.

---

John Burnside (1955 - )

---