Tuesday, September 11, 2007

the word

she won't say the word, and reads that tattered book
turns the pages, yellowed-brown, worn by other
fingers, worried by other eyes, a strange and curious
tale of children, somewhere far and wondrous, besieged
by danger, that she knows full well

or does she know the word, unheard here where
she hides, unformed by gentler mouths, unfierce
mouths, as pages turn, where oaths are made
she knows untold that children slaying dragons
have gone into the west

and she'll always be alone


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