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Illya's Honey

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In aisle 13 amidst silence,
the anthology of poetry in my hand
shouted to you.

I have that one, you pointed,
as dead poets
pushed you towards me.

A smile escaped from your soft eyes.
You laughed like lightening.
Stacks of paper were turning to dust.

You knew dreams dont dream words,
bodies do,
how we might become a poem.

Judith Pordon
C 1997

Published in Illya's Honey
Volume 7, Number 1

Link to Illya's Honey

Judith Pordon - Publication Credits

Love Poetry

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