sandalwood poem #7
I would build
a nest in your ribs
I would quarrel in your eyes
I would fly
out of your mouth
and strike down death for you
sparrow a dry wind
has parched this land
and there is no water
please do not say
it is my fault
the lilies sleep in rain
© John Knoepfle 1978, 2004
This article appears in Jun 24-30, 2004.
