Robert Peake
To Friends Not Knowing What to Say
to J.V.P., B. Jan. 24, 2006 D. Jan. 27, 2006
It is mine
to bear, this sack
of dust, broken
rhythms of night’s
covered drum.
The wind has something
to tell me.
Look how it tugs
at my sleeve.
In a dream,
I disown the alphabet,
unsaying each letter
in a song.
Who can repair
the questions
to make them hold
water or bones?
The drum renounces
its echo.
Bagpipes offer us
the reed’s endless song.
Beside the river
two children are gasping
at a paper boat
swamped by stones.
Page(s) 42
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