to the periphery of my skull
I looked longingly at my toes
who were grinning at the light
when they didn’t think I’d see
but I stood my ground and lay
quietly waiting for you to wake
watching words in the shapes
of plants and words in vestibules
of colors and words in bird-voices
drifting in from the street
a stone dragon’s head
hangs above the gate
every October something
knocks it to the ground
we never hear the sound
we stay in bed late
some days words come to us
in the arms of suns and stars
No comments:
Post a Comment