I hold on to earth and the lovers whose love rises from it. The air
fills with metaphors, all those faces stained with rain and tears. Potato
peels under the sink about to rot and their liturgical purple color. I
climb down into the well on the narrow ladder of words and lay lan-
guage tentacles in the grass. I search for what is lost, for the esthetes
and their plum orchards where leaves fell in viper-like zig-zag patterns.
The bluebell, lovely as an eyelid when it closes in the sun, reminds me
of your breath which your kiss allowed me to borrow and carry in my
own mouth.
   
 

First appeared in To Catch Life Anew: 10 Swedish Women Poets, Oyster River Press, 2006.