Circe Poem by Michael Burch
Circe
(for Beth)
She spoke
and her words
were like a ringing echo dying
or like smoke
rising and drifting
while the earth below is spinning.
She awoke
with a cry
from a dream that had no ending,
without hope
or strength to rise,
into hopelessness descending.
And an ache
in her heart
toward that dream, retreating,
left a wake
of small waves
in circles never completing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/4/2024 7:31:57 AM # 1.0.0.1119
