Echo




Did you hear me when
I whispered your name to the dew
that had not yet formed? When I
stirred the clear water of a sticky stream
and found in the eddies and whirls
a language only I could read?

I carried you
like the single breath of an ancient
bird preserved in lithographic limestone,
like all the salt of the sea bound and floating.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Another Queen of Night

Lewis Carroll and James Joyce