. . . this week’s prompt is: Unfinished conversations.
Again this week, an older poem:
Speaking In Tongues
I try to find a heaven in my dreams,
some cloudy place where you are.How can it still be morning, when
I have been out here for so long?I am in a house I have come back to.
Something is missing or broken.Looking everywhere, looking everywhere,
I am caught in a thickness of fear.I make a nest in my hands of torn
cloth, and a bird settles into it.Snow falls from a bright sky, as if the moon
were shedding ashes of its own crisp light.I want to talk with you one more time.
If there was bitterness, it’s gone now.
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