Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Desperate

Desperate


I invent his memory

recalling the gods  
that have accompanied
him—Ulysses

think
they might let you return

I go to him
tire out the echoes
the reflection   the gaze
the escape

yet he does not return

I continue

a drop of blood reminds me
that my flesh and yours
exists

I wait

No comments:

Post a Comment

Blog Archive

Followers