broken
words
are not things
like
rocks and ships
that
mean hard
or
we sail at dawn
goodbye
doesn't end
with
saying
as
though thought
could
set the tides
we
grow roots
into
each other
where wither that
when
dreams awake
alone
across the rolling days
fine
edged speech
does
not mend the ache
within
a clumsy heart
that
dies by just that much
Edward, I so love your poetry, and listening to you read, the subtlety of naunce and flavour that only the author of a piece can ever capture and employ, add immeasurably to my enjoyment.
ReplyDeleteBeccy.