I wish to boil you
in your words, to shriek
the needles from the pine,
to bask in vindication
derived from this
rotting inside me, but
there is always a fading
song with your name on it
and the truth of each lyric is
graphic, branded on
strips of tattered newsprint.
My pupils begin to leak,
spilling for a frigid, dark
December day when I
called on your humanity
your power to thaw me
and was made fertile.
I must wail, not for now
but for the poignancy of
what has passed me like
a slow train or
a silent scream.
I had such tremendous
hope for love.
2 comments:
your poetry is a joy to read.
Many thanks. Hope you keep on reading.
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