Letter to an Angel
The river is spilling over.
We picked silverweed at night-time
Like running water, unthinking.
Can you see the outline now?
Moving invisible as marshes
That are not,
because they do not know.
But I glimpsed in abandoned eyes
The whole world in its shadow
And now the air grows silverweed:
Moss
is spreading on the silence.
We picked silverweed at night-time.
The colour slips
—A fly has gotten within the skin,
And words creep out the mortal hole.
Like running water, unthinking.
Does it feed you, this river?
With me, it feeds just moss
at the lining.
Like night-time running.
And I wonder at the swelling silence.
The river is spilling over--
But we still are still here,
and not filled in.
The river is spilling over.
We picked silverweed at night-time
Like running water, unthinking.
Can you see the outline now?
Moving invisible as marshes
That are not,
because they do not know.
But I glimpsed in abandoned eyes
The whole world in its shadow
And now the air grows silverweed:
Moss
is spreading on the silence.
We picked silverweed at night-time.
The colour slips
—A fly has gotten within the skin,
And words creep out the mortal hole.
Like running water, unthinking.
Does it feed you, this river?
With me, it feeds just moss
at the lining.
Like night-time running.
And I wonder at the swelling silence.
The river is spilling over--
But we still are still here,
and not filled in.