Profile
Photos
Comments
ÂÂ
Nothing
ÂÂ
 Nothing sings in our
bodies
 like breath in a flute.
 It dwells in the
drum.
 I hear it now
 that slow beat
 like when a voice
said to the dark,
 let there be light,
 let there be
ocean
 and blue fish
 born of nothing
 and they were
there.
 I turn back to bed.
 The man there is
breathing.
 I touch him
 with hands already owned by another
world
 Look, they are desert,
 they are rust. They have washed
the dead.
 They have washed the just born.
 They are
open.
 They offer nothing.
 Take it.
 Take nothing from
me.
 There is still a little life
 left inside this
body,
 a little wildness here
 and mercy
 and it is the
emptiness
 we love, touch, enter in one another
 and try to
fill.
bodies
 like breath in a flute.
 It dwells in the
drum.
 I hear it now
 that slow beat
 like when a voice
said to the dark,
 let there be light,
 let there be
ocean
 and blue fish
 born of nothing
 and they were
there.
 I turn back to bed.
 The man there is
breathing.
 I touch him
 with hands already owned by another
world
 Look, they are desert,
 they are rust. They have washed
the dead.
 They have washed the just born.
 They are
open.
 They offer nothing.
 Take it.
 Take nothing from
me.
 There is still a little life
 left inside this
body,
 a little wildness here
 and mercy
 and it is the
emptiness
 we love, touch, enter in one another
 and try to
fill.
ÂÂ
~ Linda Hogan ~
ÂÂ
ÂÂ
(Modern American Poetry,
ed. by J. Coulson, P. Temes, and J. Baldwin)
ed. by J. Coulson, P. Temes, and J. Baldwin)