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15 November 2014

Tempo of ripples

Writing about self
sets up a strife.
The judgment of a bird
stilled by one or two riddles:
One green apple and
the other ripen.
Engraving that grounds translation.

Now mature, it asks for continuation.

We compare word and time
when we touch water.

Tempo of ripples.

The two apples, two fallen angels.
Two skies mirrored to read you a letter.
To read you a word.
Or to say aw!

My you, my saying
in a single and many words.

by Karinna A. Gulias