On a two-lane, near the shoulder, bracing
itself against speed, a turtle’s green face that is my face.
At the heart of the desert, an oasis
amid fasting and prayer. Lean face that is my face,
though I hunger, I am singing these praises
that rise like incense. A serene face, that is my face.
Not to the swift goes the race; time flies—and erases,
says the moon, sweet face that is my face.
I am walking into the dark woods’ embrace
by a reflected light. Unseen face, that is my fate.
Copyright © BOA Editions, Ltd 2003
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of BOA Editions LTD.