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from What The Light Teaches 1 Countless times this river has been bruised by our bodies; liquid fossils of light. We shed our ghost skins in the current; then climb the bank, heavy and human. The river is a loose tongue, a folk song. At night we go down to listen. Stars like sparks from a bonfire. We take off what we are, and step into the moon. 2 When there are no places left for us, this is where we'll still meet. Pass the white fountain of birches, green helmets of willows. Past the boulder that fastens the field like a button on a pocket. Here, where trees you planted are now twice our height. In winter we'll haunt your kitchen, our love an overturned bowl, a circling lid. We'll visit the creaking bog with its sunken masts; fly over a death mask of snow and the frozen pond striped with grass - to our river, humming between closed lips. Attentive as your favourite poet, Tsvetaeva - who listened with the roots of her hair. to go back.. |
