i should like to talk with you in the dark
when you cannot see my words, only hear them
and your dreams have not yet appeared
when night has come and the idea of a flower
blossoms like a sweet gum tree in the back of your mind
i should like to talk with you when your voice is dark as the tailfeather of a raven
your words more tense than an arrow about to be shot
and your lips tighter than a rabbit caught in a snare
and your eyelids wicked as a tapping finger
and your pulse steady as the falling of angels
and your faith persistent as a phantom
and your hope flatter than a palm
and your desire more wild than a minotaur
i should like to talk with you
when your pace is more consistent than a wolf
and you run with the pack across mountains of snow
across mountains of split bone
across mountains of poverty
across mountains of lust
across mountains of eternity
entire pyrenees of paradise
smouldering like earth's original lava
i should like to talk with you
in the language of rain
in the silence of strangers
in the voice of a crowd as it surges across
medieval streets, pulling up cobblestones as they go
yes, the crowd! their bare and bloody hands
i should like to talk with you when it is dark
dark as a bed in an unexpected room


�2007 by George Wallace