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Buoy the population of the soul
Toward their destination before they drown
~ Robert Pinsky
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helma object publisher


Tuesday, 13. August 2002

Trawl Bridge Street - Octavio Paz


Sun throughout the day, cold throughout the sun.
Nobody on the streets. Parked parks.
Still no snow but wind, wind,
a red tree still burns in the chilled air.
Talking to it, I talk to you.
I am in a room abandoned by language.
You are in another identical room,
or we both are on a street your glance has depopulated.
The world imperceptibly comes apart.
Memory decayed beneath our feet.
I am stopped in the middle of this unwritten line.




Big Book Of Poetry

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