"elka" poems
“This Bitter Language
I know your streets, sweet city,
I know the demons and angels that flock
and roost in your boughs like birds.
I know you, river, as if you flowed
through my heart.
I am your warrior daughter.
There are letters made of your body
as a fountain is made of water.
There are languages
of which you are the blueprint
and as we speak them
the city rises.”
― Elka Cloke
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 2:09 AM UTC