The mourning-dove mercilessly
coos my sentence in the woods.
They are the hangmen
pronouncing my sentence
in the suitable language of love.
And I'm missing you.
With silver bells and cockle shells,
the big ship sank to the bottom of the sea.
The gravel and stone will be washed away,
and the silver and gold will be stolen away.
I found them indeed,
but it made my heart bleed.
Punish me for my irresistible beauty.
Punish me for my desecration.
Foolish men sought me out
to earn their reputations.
The old gold of the stunted cedars,
the horizons,
the chilly gullies with their red willow
whips, intoxicate me
and confirm belief
in what I have done.
To look upon me was to turn to stone,
for no mortal can withstand the direct gaze of divinity.
Iron and steel will bend
and break.
I am the thorn in her side.
I am her reverse reflection.
Your back was a firm line of eastern coast.
I'm just missing you...
No comments:
Post a Comment