Sunday, June 15, 2008

these fragments

there is nothing left to do
but sleep. one eye closes
but the other remains persistently
open, unable to push out
this steady harassment


if a swan would land on
the stream, would her smooth
body keep the water open
as winter comes? see her
circling repetitively in ever
narrowing arcs

like in childhood, sagging
in an upholstered chair
in front of a neglected
bowl of goulash
when you followed
the rhythmic strokes of the violin
out of consciousness

Rachel Westfall
June 15, 2008

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