My hand
tries to tell the paper
in quick unkempt strokes
how it was with us
how on a hillside for an hour
we spoke only rain
trying to mimic its language
before lapsing back into
our human
tongue again
how we spoke to the ghosts
who surrounded us
the old stones
in the graveyard
only able to speak
thier names & dates
excited by our kisses
my hand
tries to tell the paper
how it was with us
but as always
words
fail me
forgive me
my love.
You are forgiven. This is beautiful Donall Donall! I love the repetiton of the phrase '...how it was with us! ' Very touching and tender and warm and wonderful. And despite what the poem says...the words do not fail you. Lovely poem. love Dee Dee
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Never, no, not one time, have I known the words to fail you, and once again, you have captured the thoughts of how, as writers, we try to 'tell the paper.' I am never sure that we succeed, but when I read your work, I understand love more and more. Thank you for giving me the insight to 'know love' just a bit.