Monday, October 26, 2009

The Spoken Valley

The Tongue in the Spoken Valley


I wake and switch on the bedside light
there’s a glacier in my bed
it turns and presses its cold mouth on mine
ice, it says
snow, it says
the frigid slurry and recession
the mile-thick compression
the scraping out of lakes and the flattening of mountains
I have been waiting for you, it says

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