interrogatories

could it be I’m brother to the wind
the sorrow at sunset  or  perhaps
that I’m the salt in your tears when alone
tell me  little dove  tell me
why does love weigh upon me
like a stone of basalt formed
why do the warblings of birds
carry me off with them
why at night do the little green hands
of flowers make me weep    wherefore
do I sing always of the sea
and never of mountains or valleys
oh my song of seven names
when you read this poem I’ll have gone
into my dreaming you smile at reading it

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll 2014

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