Emails Poem by Linda Hepner

and on a cloud sat Tennyson, a grand old lord,
beard flowing, naked arm outstretched,
finger touching almost to the key,
the tip, the digit, lip,
the tongue – the letters
sparking and leaping, fingertips
finding themselves in joy, surprise,
awakening each other’s reaching
fingers animating, every
touch a tremor, every touch
a word composed of drops,
trickling, gushing, tumbling, rushing,
now a brook and now a torrent
streaming, flying, sparkling in the sun,
glistening in the moon
and here it was I fell… and drowned…
and as it goes
it joins its twin stream, then it separates
in rocky side streams
bubbling, babbling over pebbles stones
joining again in jubilation
tumbling down together over rocks
and dancing swirls together in its eddies
snatching along the way the twigs
the fish the bodies into
deepest darkest depthless pools
then through the chasms it has carved with time
splits once again round massive rocks,
two rivers now, and through
steep forest banks where dead leaves spinning down
fast from tall and winging willowtrees
towering above like sheltering angels
shower their blessings, praise,
all unaware that bodies blanched
are undercurrent, heavy battered luggage
pulled by the torrent down towards the sea
where then those drops become the ocean universe
and there those words become the worlds’ wild
web of babble chatter squabbles air reunions
a never ending come and go,
while deep in oceans fathom five
lie bodies, weeping, adding to the water’s level
and the waves rush headlong splash and crash
with never ending
verbal tumult.

Linda Hepner
October 1 2005
m'Sh.