Thursday, February 21, 2008

Silence (Upon Knowing Winter Is Over)

My voice has become
Too comfortably
Spread upon sheets,
Paper-thin and milk-white,

A sniper in trees,
Camo artist with
Daggers instead of bullets,
Slow pierce instead of pop,
Eye instead of mouth.

And now what will I say
That the freeze is done,
When I know what you need,
When I know what you want,
When it is stuck

On the shelves in my mind,
Behind canning and pickles,
Behind cobwebs and paintings,
Unborn word.

What can I do
But coax them out slowly,
Ease them with honey and
Hope you can notice
Them crowning.

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