The window remained as before. The cold repeats that idiotic essence of rock just as the letters of every word tremble. With a half smile you point out an exit, some stairs. Not even now have you symbols for the dead. I spoke to you of the sea, but the sea is a few square meters, a drill, scarcely out. It was also, for us, the intuition of a daughter breathing in the first moments of a thing. Paper to say broth and rice, months to say pillow. The blue ones call me frozen in a fixed star. Used by permission of Story Line Press. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MADRIGAL: 1 by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN MAUBERLEY: 5. MEDALLION by EZRA POUND THE CHILD IN A GARDEN by MARIA ABDY THE GODS AND THE WINDS by ALEXANDER ANDERSON MERCURY; ON LOSING MY POCKET MILTON AT LUSS NEAR BEN LOMOND by ROBERT ANDREWS |