Words.

You reed-bed wave of gold,
under still blue
tacit, folded
in you sleep
a million hushing
hushing birds.
I run through:
start all your words
into the sky. These waking starlings
shout, or murmur, let them fly.

An audio version of this poem is available here.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in poem and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Words.

  1. John says:

  2. iamamro says:

    I like this – it’s excellent.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s