Dialects Undreamed
The mountain burns a seamless blue
Across the ledge; a slight blade of sun
draws a long, straight line above rooftops
The world speaks dialects undreamed
Its raw and gliding tongue unpeels
the long-winded trail of snow geese
Somewhere a crow, this utter of death
whose grasp slips through my fingers
What you feel, I feel; with a dexterous twist
We drop like stones - eyes like melting pearls;
Our limbs bending rich shadows across
the wide terrain of unnamed boulevards
Deborah Russell, © 2006
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