a journal of fantastical poetry

לכבוד אַ סטרונע (Lekoved a Strune)

by Rose Lemberg

it's leaving me,
the tree that grew from the letters of my life,
furrowed the notebook of my skin. But now it autumns
away into the earth I've left in water's memory.
There, I heard, the past was a golden rose,
there, I heard, the past is nothingness
growing through the muck like a fiddle.
I have melted wax into my ears, hid
myself from that music, but the rain finds me
even when the clouds are waterless, the sky
is the color of a worn coat stitched with thunder.

January 25th, 2013

web design © mitchell hart