marvelous piece, Sharon.
On Dec 18, 2007 8:16 PM, sharon brogan <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Here
>
> Birch trees thicken with snow; the landscape out this window is sugared.
> Everything retreats to silence. I don't love you
> anymore. It's all hardened, inside these thickening limbs, these
> stiffening
> joints. Hardened to ice, inflexible and cold.
>
> I've become brittle, sharp, and empty. My dreams are wisps, ghostly
> and vacant of feeling. They pass through me like
> breath on a freezing day. There is no space in me for religion, for rest,
> for grace; no hope of transformation. It is all
>
> illusion. You, my passion, my love: illusion. This body -- I stare at the
> palm
> of my hand -- illusion. I am always asleep.
> This language, so thin, so transparent: illusion. I release you now.
> Today,
> I release you. You, this day, this release: illusion.
>
>
> --
>
>
> ~ SB | http://www.sbpoet.com | =^..^=
>
|