Wednesday, April 04, 2007


I walked around your figure, holding in
my hand the rock to reprimand you with,
and in that ancient stone, that monolith,
found a Rosetta for our separate pain:
it broke your jaw-- you never spoke again.
The blood you bled for me had stopped your breath
and filled your mouth completely, so in both
of us the tongues remained as mute as stone.

I come back to your image in my head
among the ruins of my mind, in which
I find you with a scientist’s surprise;
your face has turned to fossil: I can’t rid
the trace of you from this past, nor detach
your figure from the rock in which it lies.