NIL BY MOUTH Poem by Kathryn Daszkiewicz
NIL BY MOUTH
Another stroke, and, as if it were a bird
your swallow vanishes. Flies off
at the start of a bleak season
on the blue scythe of its wings.
Your mind, flitting across some other
sky, is closed to us, our futile
bedside twitterings, is perched
on a cusp between worlds
seeking finer air. While
the dark screen of poplars beyond
the hospital window
obscures our view
of heaven.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 7:49:46 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
