Bends for a Time as if Tame
Already begun
the slipping away,
the traveler poem comes
on the crest of a wave,
seeking two or three words, maybe four.
The flank-heaving poem
rests in our care,
bends, for a time,
as if tame.
Next the words and the writer
stand on the shore
thanking the poem
for the time,
watching the poem
roll away.
Counting on You
I wish my voice
would rumble the bones
in your ear
as it thunders in mine,
could speak the same truth
it whispers in mine,
could sing the same song
that I'm hearing.
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