Hearth Song

This song
I mouth, patrolling
the house of my childhood
is heartless,
bellowed into frost-bitten hands
on summer nights
to heat a fire in the hearth
of your lost heart,
hewn from autumn wood.
My teenage poems, buried
under ice in the garden,
are thawing.
All day I have sweated
collecting wood
for the fire.

Patrik Gryst

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s