Wilderness

Please do not talk too loud
You will wake the children
In me they cry, hundreds of them
Their voices tiny and shrill
Never conceived, yet dead already.
We are all tired of eyes, hearts, and ourselves
So bring a knife and scrape the scents
Darkness does not fall properly
There are always leaks to other stories
After the echoes burn down
What should be our next dance, my dear?
Come, come close to me, not that close, just so I can
Touch the barbed rim of the shadows
Soon a flood will be over these shattered, indigo plains
And the water will stand still
Long after my bones have mingled with the dust.


('97)