past pretense, past the verse with its agility
i address a calla lily to you:
let this flower, native
to the earth that carries me,
do all the talking, its whiter words
to flow under your eyes,
dazzlingly
tender
(light up, light up as if you have a choice)
for how else than in the long-stemmed language
of a lily can i translate scars
into song,
the winter soliloquies
of mouths to the softest sounds
of green
(even if you can not hear my voice)
and say that nights
when the love of hands
came between mine,
still pull a slight moan
from my throat,
impossibly
yellow?
Gold trophy winner
Adding your comment:
~Tia
