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Sunday, August 31, 2008

Stale Aromas

if you want to let us go,
forget me then,
as rain forgets itself
in a timeless flood:

let the bright rivulets
trickle away to
die forgotten
in the damp and grey,

pull up our roots
that had grown so deep,
rip them out
from your soil,

cut down our trees
and leave the ground bare:

place our logs
to burn hastily
in another fire's will,

after a bitter burning
their ashes
can neither warm nor chill,

but choke with
stale aromas,

to become a clog
in the back
of love's throat.

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