Sat
Dec
19
flower: a blind man’s word
Once,
when winter’s fog had dried itself to ash,
and summer’s wind had broken grain from chaff,
you woke me in the dark,
trembling.
And I lit a lamp upon our darkened room
and uttered words like “tulip” “birch,” and “rose”
one by one their pretty syllables blew off into the pitch.
O what folly!
Why couldn’t I have just held you like an oak,
softly and silently
in these giant strong arms?
