the blues of you
Fear comes from knowing some moments last
for too much now or into too much Eternity
and that some others we hold in our mouths
so sweet to taste, we dare not swallow
may fall to
if we let them come Down into us.
I fear the loss of your palm-lines and words
who left kind quarries in my neck
that the gentle Trumpet of your voice
will echo far along somebody’s Mississippi
leave my ear
a familiar din
asking if it knows You
or a blues of you, distorted
I am afraid your tone and timbre will be shaken from my head–
by the unwelcome vibrations
a Woman’s skull will certainly endure
in its unrelenting search for river Stillness.
—By Stella M.