Tuesday, July 21, 2009
I want
to walk,
with you
on my Texas desert,
to stand near
you straight
as a Spanish Dagger,
to see your fingers
pick a bone bouquet
touching life
where I touch death
to hold a warm, white
pelvis up
to the glaring sun
and see
your red-blue worls
to feel you touch
my eyes as you touch canvas
to unfold
giant blooms.
~Pat Mora~
I've loved that poem since the 7th grade. I think it's stunning and I can hear it in my head.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment