Spell

Frederick C. Frieseke

Spell

If, at your desk, you push aside your work,

Take down a book, turn to this verse,

and read that I kneel here, pressing

my ear where on your chest the muscles

arch as great books part, in seagull curves,

bridging the seasounds of your heart,

and that your hands run through my hair,

draw the wayward mass to strands

as flat as scarlet silk-thread bookmarks,

and stroke my cheeks as if smoothing

back the tissue leaves from chilly,

plated pages, and pull me near

to read my eyes alone, then you shall see,

silvered and monochrome, yourself,

sitting at your desk, taking down a book,

turning to this verse, and then, my love,

you shall not know which one of us is reading,

now, which is writing, and which written.

Kate Clanchy

"Read my eyes alone, then you shall see...yourself". And there you are - in the poem.  Wait, did she just write you? Are you a person in a poem? Have you been created? Are you part of an enchantment? Did she just put a spell on you?!