Sometimes I catch
and call a language
that isn’t mine,
stepping behind
a dream, raking
burning leaves,
or entering backdoors
one after another
after another drops off
the edge.
That can be freedom
but sometimes it flies
toward an open window
suddenly caught
without strange recourse
or the clarity of glass,
the way it can only see
so far.
3 comments:
I like this poem,you sort of think it leads you somewhere but you don't know where.Just like language,I guess.
love this ~
thanks RC and luc! i appreciate the comments.
Post a Comment