The Muse

(An International Journal of Poetry)

Volume-1                                          June-2011                                                        Number-1

 

 

Re-inventing Language

By †Devreaux Baker

 

Tell me something I havenít heard before

How bridges in Paris are rusting bolt by bolt

and rivers are tired of their secrets

How night loves to wash your body

 

Empty words from out of your pockets

and rearrange stars if you have to, but tell

me something you have never told anyone

 

How the object of your desire never sleeps

and your heart is made of glass that shatters

each time you break bread with your father

 

Tell me how you invite transgressions into your bed

and slip knots around the waist of afternoon

so twilight never leaves your side

 

Weave syllables into a net that stretches

from the flea market on the outskirts of this city

all the way into the back alleys of your childhood

 

then speak to me in the language of your birth

so I may finally understand the things lost to me in translation

and hold them in my hands like saltless tears

or small fires burning in wilderness