Monday, 13 February 2012

the dream in which she fed him her heart

in the dream a child died.

a teacher spoke the language of hearts, though earlier she was the tower on the hill that, when in the sun, resembled a lighthouse. she, even now, shone..life..through more than dry and crumbling words to teach the fog-lost father about light and hope, but mostly about birds that sing the song of the prayer of the canticle; that carve the winds, that sing no matter what.

6 comments:

alvaro barcala said...

demie said...

a good teacher. a terrible dream.
'cause if a child dies birds stop singing

Crafty Green Poet said...

beautiful...

demie said...

.... sometimes dreams come just to make us write beautiful poems...

alvaro barcala said...

I have just read "The secret commonwealth" by Robert Kirk. This is out of topic but I thought you would like this book.

ellom said...

"to teach the fog-lost father". So necessary work, and so serious.