poems collected
a terribly eclectic collection of poems i like
Archives for: April 2008, 17
2008.04.17
Brooks Haxton
Cuneiform
The wedge sank five times into the clay,
and a word, which had been spoken in a breath,
lay still until the gods' names were forgotten.
Then, when strangers took the tile in hand,
while stars sailed into the dark
beyond the world, the dead tongue
in the clay began to speak.
anthologia kunyica | 03:19 pm |
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