With apologies to Edith Sodergran

[framlingem]

Despair


I cannot write
The vibration of a string
The way the air quivers
down a curled canal;

I cannot put words
To the changes in a song
raw to smooth to real
in three notes;

I cannot truly tell you
Of a wave that tore the air
caught me up in it
and drowned me in a crowd;

I can no more make music ink
Than I can bake a cathedral.
But I can tell you
that this is what joy could be.



Hope

I want to let go -
so I don't give a damn about fine writing,
I'm rolling my sleeves up.
The dough's rising...
Oh what a shame
I can't bake cathedrals...
that sublimity of style
I've always yearned for...
Child of our time -
haven't you found the right shell for your soul?

Before I die I shall
bake a cathedral.