Читать книгу A Lot of the Way Trees Were Walking - Cynthia Briggs Kittredge - Страница 9

Way before I reached that turning point

of not knowing what to cry

I had to ask for years and years,

shall I?

Throw myself off

Fall a shooting star

streaked naked light

flesh a phrase

in the night, visible,

back to dark.

Can I?

Dare with trembling ink

to spill to mark to soil

blank white wilderness

erase the possibility

for anything else to grow

there but that. But you.

Indelible.

Open my lips make me a mouth

inhale air prepare

wait at the edge