Monday, June 12, 2006
Three Morning Poems
Even Today
Even today
when I did not ask you
to come. . .
How weak I am
I said
today I won't ask
just stand outside the door.
But you came anyway
ready to stroke
my body alive
with roses.
. . . . . . . . . .
What Song
No doubt about it.
I am the string
vibrating
on the lute
which you play.
Here I am again:
Beloved, what song
are you making
of me now?
. . . . . . . . .
What this is
I have gone over it
so many times--
this chronicle
I call my life,
the volume I will
carry with me
when I go.
No matter how often
I search the pages
nothing tells me
who you are
what this is.
Even today
when I did not ask you
to come. . .
How weak I am
I said
today I won't ask
just stand outside the door.
But you came anyway
ready to stroke
my body alive
with roses.
. . . . . . . . . .
What Song
No doubt about it.
I am the string
vibrating
on the lute
which you play.
Here I am again:
Beloved, what song
are you making
of me now?
. . . . . . . . .
What this is
I have gone over it
so many times--
this chronicle
I call my life,
the volume I will
carry with me
when I go.
No matter how often
I search the pages
nothing tells me
who you are
what this is.
