100 poems/52 weeks challenge’ 2018
I hated nostalgia,
for I was still a child
and what of child and the past,
and what of child and the future?
In my starry night,
I lapped in the moonlit sea
where wise turtles swam
and a bright meadow of stars spake,
of a vibrating universe
and secrets that evaded men,
but I like to think–they came close,
oh so close to me.
And when I came out of the sea
they thought it was the water-broke
and I was still a baby,
for I could not tell them what the stars said
and thus language, you’ve again
I make words
they unmake me,
when I am told that I am only them.
It is a terrible thing to live without language
and to be told,
it is the way of life.