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Raquel Angel Nagler


The night of words


Certain words,
Shielded and blind as a fist,
Find me naked
At my aching door, cracked like a voice.
* * *
Words, made of the substance of flight
Must find, like eagles or larks,
Their own lightness.
* * *
Peering into the throat of my words
I hear sometimes
In a single chord, a single shudder,
The sum of caress and of absence:
The chronicle of a sigh.
* * *
Beneath the death of the wave,
The last breath of a sea,
All I hear is the silence,
As if my ear were trained
Only on words in a tongue I know.

Submitted: Thursday, September 01, 2011
Edited: Thursday, September 01, 2011

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