setting out on this wordlong journey i
have not much hope, siren silence calls me.
i'm driven by the moving meniscus
of soap on a stick, or minor breezes
though i do not set out with wordfilled sails
i can remember a green and gentle
reaching time. i had not set out to spin
webs. i had sought reached out with my words.
though now in a brown and rutted time i
can remember the cautious search on which i
left, i walk on wordwebbed feet in waterless
pools and the spiderless dustfilled cobwebs
of my limp craft still catch unlikely flies.
i called wind to blossom. it stayed cold in
my hands, i set out on a wordless day
oct 19,1973
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem