Sunday, March 19, 2006

Poem # 103

Let Down

They say I am not allowed to be anything
other than I am: a girl stranded, standing

at the shore of an impossible ocean, the moon always
setting behind a dark blue wave. Swallowing

something more than the salt of tears, a tang
more familiar than any other liquid,

a wine for the sorrowful ages. Stone walls trace
the limits of my universe. A single slit, for light,

reminds me of that one golden afternoon, before
this empty smoothness that requires no time:

you moved from out there to here, slipping
easily past something solid. You were a ghost

who made love to me, who sang
sweetness, poured a sliver of sunlight

across a parched earth. There was water everywhere,
everywhere, flooding my island, my little turret.

Somewhere, a child slithers away from his father,
seeks the salt breeze of another, larger ocean.

No comments:

Post a Comment

This is a comment box. It is for comments. Please do not leave your Giant Squid of Anger here.