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