Tuesday, August 16, 2011


by james bezerra

For now you may just be
a frozen stream; solid, wintery.
I may only be a mountain
- distant, looming, snowy -
but soon we’ll both be wrapped in Spring
and those warm, long days will bring
a thaw in me, and I’ll commence to melting
and I’ll send all my tributaries to you,
like fingers reaching for you
and I will flow into you
and you will swell mightily.


No comments: