[to the untranslated, the burned down, the unconveyed...]
and to the Moldovan poet Mihai Eminescu -
lost voices known only to the Lord
lost voices crowd my open mind;
my mind, shut down by storms.
lost language, time and youth;
lost, lost the words spoken to you
in childhood near your loved, native streams.
and I would write to you in dreams,
in invisible ink:
"did you? write for me?"
Someone must be quickening lost voices
remaindering their gold and how they strove
dreaming into the day the other world.
but tonight I am so obscure
half ghosted by a rusted armour
where the leaves scuffle over your non-monuments
and you sighed, I have crumbled...
somewhere remains a bright seam undisclosed
and there I will leave this frost tipped rose
at the edge of sere winter's curtain.
and strain to hear
as if the snows had words
Time itself and all her birds
flung upward to the receiving angels
since here it cannot cannot cannot be heard
mary angela douglas 4 november 2015
and to the Moldovan poet Mihai Eminescu -
lost voices known only to the Lord
lost voices crowd my open mind;
my mind, shut down by storms.
lost language, time and youth;
lost, lost the words spoken to you
in childhood near your loved, native streams.
and I would write to you in dreams,
in invisible ink:
"did you? write for me?"
Someone must be quickening lost voices
remaindering their gold and how they strove
dreaming into the day the other world.
but tonight I am so obscure
half ghosted by a rusted armour
where the leaves scuffle over your non-monuments
and you sighed, I have crumbled...
somewhere remains a bright seam undisclosed
and there I will leave this frost tipped rose
at the edge of sere winter's curtain.
and strain to hear
as if the snows had words
Time itself and all her birds
flung upward to the receiving angels
since here it cannot cannot cannot be heard
mary angela douglas 4 november 2015
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