I touch the curtain, and what's left of day
Writes longitudes across your bedroom wall:
The room as a cartographer's display
Of vectors and projection, where we're small
And plotable. I wonder if someone
Here before me would notice the same thing
And think about its transience. The sun
Amost behind the hospital now, nestling
Down in the orange litter of those cranes
That almost spell out letters. But I'm stuck
If I can read them. All the weather-vanes
Point different ways. The unexpected dark
Wraps its magnetic field around the Earth.
You draw my flesh. See. You are my true North.
2007-10-02 08:33:32 · 3 answers · asked by synopsis 7 in Arts & Humanities ➔ Poetry
I've been without plotable water...
This is very good.
TD
2007-10-02 08:50:52 · answer #1 · answered by TD Euwaite? 6 · 1⤊ 0⤋
Good. are you watching Queen Elisabeth Hospital being rebuilt
2007-10-02 18:28:15 · answer #2 · answered by TWOBOB 4 · 0⤊ 0⤋
Great sonnet- most people really screw that format up royally. I love the imagery. You should submit that somewhere, really.
2007-10-02 17:33:38 · answer #3 · answered by fizzygurrl1980 7 · 1⤊ 0⤋