Wet and viscous the vapors that slither in mouth-wise. Sludge and tempura-thick the ground I mash To mini mountains with hugging, lugging hiking boots. Little mouth, you clucked and clung to my back — Toes pressed to lumbar, foes to my comfort. Twenty days and twenty nights I’d walk this mountain For you. I’d not ease a silvery sin. I’d curse nary a star Or stunning sun. I’d not bed for beatified beauty. Sing and weep. Cling and sleep while I scoop The scrim of cloven oaks ringing out to warrens Of rabid rocks — lullaby and hullabaloo — The news of what’s to come and what comes for you.
Deborah Ager Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
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