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literature

Self-Eulogy

Deviation Actions

reflectionsinwater

Published: Sep 10, 2014

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Literature Text

Your winter’s hammock has a seam of snow
from when your cloud-capped head weaved crystal webs.
Poetic imprints, angels inked in cold
are memories etched in your paper corpse.
You left some things, but words were not your force.
Figuring it out was the breeze. Your folds,
however, soiled your time and what is left,
your ash bed I bought, is a seal of slough.

In dreams, you draw the sewing of slain narwhals
to constellations. I console them. Have
you solved your ode that flails with paradox?
I’ve found your fields of ice, but I was lost.
In summer, you’ve stolen my voice when half
your winter’s hammock is a seal of slough.

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