Katharina

Your first mother has folded you back into her body.
The wind banging the shore like a wet tent,
ropes ready to fly, canvas heavy.
Rain and seawater one. A green sea, broken.
A slice of disbelief tipping, chalk and wet trees.

Seelenlandschaft.

Do not look into the eyes of the morning, nor provoke,
outstretched hands would be a sort of salvation,
but there is little more than
the last falling and an ending.
You will now be rested.

poem by Leslie Philibert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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