in the bleak --
the span of your forest's questions
i cannot shun with my hands.
it is like naming the trees in the
morning and almost with ease
from the bend of the boughs
to the song nearing its end in
the once-told twilight
of the never arriving,
forgetting everything
in the night as the space widens
like an eye awakened to
new pains yet old truths.
underneath the sovereign
of which darkness remains uncharted
is the single candle
burning, intent to squirm back
to its death.
it is sure than when our
eyes meet, in knowing this,
there is ineffable readiness,
than when i try to remember
with frail knowledge the
sorry names clinging to elegiac
leaves zither no more,
you are ready to forget.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 11:44 AM UTC
in the bleak --
the span of your forest's questions
i cannot shun with my hands.
it is like naming the trees in the
morning and almost with ease
from the bend of the boughs
to the song nearing its end in
the once-told twilight
of the never arriving,
forgetting everything
in the night as the space widens
like an eye awakened to
new pains yet old truths.
underneath the sovereign
of which darkness remains uncharted
is the single candle
burning, intent to squirm back
to its death.
it is sure than when our
eyes meet, in knowing this,
there is ineffable readiness,
than when i try to remember
with frail knowledge the
sorry names clinging to elegiac
leaves zither no more,
you are ready to forget.
Request permission to use this poem