Читать книгу Purity of Absence - Dave Margoshes - Страница 23

Forked Tongues

for Paulette Dubé

Your tongue is

split, a shell

cloven in two

one ribbon of flesh

rabbiting across prairie

where the enormity of sky

squeezes you small, the other

curling through mountain

passes where you grow

into yourself, a nautilus

one tongue bitten sore

with accent, its mate licked

smooth, one dark as the wing

of a heron glimpsed

overhead, the other bright

as the eyes

of the silver fish

it swoops down on.

Your tongue is

split, a leaf torn

along the stem

the poem it sings

a metaphor

for the desire

pulling you, pushing

you, pressing you

down, hurling you into air

bereft of meaning.

Your tongue is

split, your heart

whole.