ABECEDARIAN A
a hollow, your mouth
a home for your words
about to tremble,
ooze
actual sound
air through your cords
among patterns for vowels purled
amphibian
consonants, clickity click
and I see it coming, see you knit
and measure me up
as if the stitching might confuse
me and I won't hear it
as is
as urgent, small print
at the bottom of this seduction you weave round me
attending to any indication of a reply while I wait
awhile, pick at invisible threads before
WATER, COLOUR
for Linda
she paints birds
early, before the world
has woken
catches the sun
as it ripens
on her face
stills the morning
till nothing
but the heron lifts it
and the tide ticks
back
over asynchronous shells
forth
into voiceless shallows
the wind is relentless
against the bird's shaft
and impotent
a cause
without effect
slowly she succumbs
to the edge of the page
the brush
bristles
leaves
Copyright © Anamaría Crowe Serrano, 2009
