THE SELF

Song

Sing me a song of never
I’ll twist you a sprig of rhyme
Break open the box of forever
And smooth on the salve of time

I’ll sing you a song that’s disjointed
You’ll bring me a promise unbound
From fingers with salt tears anointed
Where yesterday’s loss may be found

We’ll dance to the song of a thistle
A cormorant’s call ‘cross the sea
I’ll send you a silent epistle
Read out in the leaves of your tea

You’ll ask for a song that is solid
With a clear money back guarantee
Impassive, uncluttered and stolid
You’re surely not talking to me?

I sing to the wind of gossamer wings
Of opening air and sweet hollow bone
I plait a crossed pattern of star flowing strings
For I’ve learned I can sing all alone


©Edwina Peterson Cross