Description
From The Road to Mora
.
To the sky she speaks, I’ve been so unhappy.
Water lifts her. On its woven current, walls
collapse. The sky replies: Tell another story
about bad decisions. Hair streaming, she sings
of slippery places. I am raining she thinks.
Thunder closes the bridge.
.
*
.
There’s nothing but a coat she doesn’t wear.
Either too hot or a talisman. Either her weight
or her freedom. When snow falls, she feels it.
And takes three deep breathes before hefting
her coat to the sky; the sky refuses. Tosses it
to the river; the coat returns. Two choices,
really one in the same: white mules gleaming
far ahead, or a coat right here like rain.
.
*
.
From a dark well she reaches. Another story:
two monks have arrived at a house of adobe
in sundrenched shirts, with wine.
