We brought each other this
basket full of sighs,
Each coated with the resins
of the May moon
That dripped love upon us.
Some of these sighs
Are as small as dust
Nestling on your eyelashes;
others explode,
Releasing to passion’s heaven.
Here’s a sigh,
Mildew and sorrow growing
upon it, damp
As Seattle’s spring.
Another sigh is like an old
cat, weary
Of chasing words around the
house each Sunday.
Do you recall how empty the
basket was
The day we wove it?
We wove ourselves together in
its seams.
We have carried this basket
for years, adding
Sighs of all shapes and
colors, opening
Ourselves to their songs.
No comments:
Post a Comment