Saturday, August 25, 2007

At the Barrier



The languages are hard to translate

as we stand at the barrier

We know house, leaf, bed


We have learned the names we give

each other’s children, how to call them

home out of the dark sky


lit up all night with falling stars

When your daughter says

you are leaving, she gives me this


small rose of cloth & wire

for luck & memory

I slice open the bread & melon


We speak our careful idiom

in which the tongues of sorrow

are replaced: salt, bread, water


Here are her sandals

Don’t tell me forever.

Listen, even the stars fall


at last home to each other

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