And shall I tell him that the thought of him
turns me to water
and when his name is spoken pale still sky
trembles and breaks and moves like blowing water
that winter thaws its frozen drifts in water
all matter blurs, unsteady, seen through water
and I, in him, dislimn, water in water?
As true: the thought of him
has made me marble
and when his name is spoken blowing sky
settles and freezes in a dome of marble
and winter seals its floury drifts in marble
all matter double-locks as dense as marble
and I, in others’ eyes, am cut from marble.
I see this poem on the Toronto subway often, and I just love it. It’s a bright spot on a stressful commute, and it’s just a beautiful, beautiful poem. I especially love the sound of “and I, in him, dislimn” and the rhythm created by the repetition of “water” and “marble.” I can probably keep going on about all the things I love about this poem, but really, all I want to do is share it with you all.
Reblogged this on Letters to My Generation.