Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Call Me Sybil

A  L  O  H  A !
" Long before our time
 they called her old,
But she'd walk down the same road
 every day.
Her age became
 too much to say
In years — and, like a forest's,
 would be told-











" In centuries. 
She comes to stand at dusk —
Her spot each time the same —
 and to foretell.
She is a hollow,
 wrinkled husk,
Dark
 as a fire-gutted citadel.








" She has to turn
 her flock of talking
 loose
Or it will grow
 too crowded
 to relieve.
Flapping and screaming, 
words are flying 
all









Around her. 
Then, returning home
 to roost,
They find a perch
 beneath her eyebrows' eaves,
And in that shadow
 wait for night to fall. "

Rainer Maria Rilke




 <>[}:{]<>



I too know
centuries of
experience

[ not ALL of it
my own ] 

 Go out
each day,
returning to this 
spot.


Words
flap,
emerge,
fly about.



OK,
maybe I tease them,
a bit,
am pleased by them,
even 'sneeze'
them.



But they roost
not only in my
eyes
[ my photos ]
Miracle!
They roost
in YOUr heart!



Thank YOU
for giving my words,
my eyes,
a noble home.
Drop off some words
of Your Own
 in 'Comments '
                          Warmly, cloudia