I cannot
speak about this morning
I could not
speak this morning.
Black with bliss and
alone is early day.
Sky slides to light
after that I cannot talk.
Promises are spatial
words partial, outbid,
like unsexed spittle.
Words dare not bend.
Could I be more surprised
if the faces of my children
had changed at end of night--
I cannot talk.
I cannot.
Some words have wings
monstrous and clamorous,
wild as swans
that alight, fly awry
If I had no need for words
for all words to wait, watch
I would never want at all.
_
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Spirit of Scoutie
We picked this spot for Scout's memorial because of the way he'd always come bounding up to greet me around that bend. And while I d...
No comments:
Post a Comment