Though I would swear
and tear my throat anew,
the words could never speak to you.
This persistent tongue will seek yours willing,
but the air and I are full,
and are both too often found while spilling.

So I swear to the dust
and all this torrent air between us
that some seasons welcome swimmers,
but the summer never bore the cold,
the bleakest spring denies it's old;
and you and I have swam the snow, gotten lost, and linger
where the autumn lies and the winter whimpers.

06/08/2009

Author's Note: I may wish it on better terms, but it's good to be back.

Posted on 06/08/2009
Copyright © 2024 Matthew Zangen