Pillow

by Li-Young Lee


There's nothing I can't find under there. 

Voices in the trees, the missing pages 

of the sea. 

Everything but sleep. 

And night is a river bridging 

the speaking and the listening banks, 

a fortress, undefended and inviolate. 

There's nothing that won't fit under it: 

fountains clogged with mud and leaves, 

the houses of my childhood. 

And night begins when my mother's fingers 

let go of the thread 

they've been tying and untying 

to touch toward our fraying story's hem.

[...]

images: violet photography / so much to tell you / julien oppenheim via desire to inspire / the rest from jjjjound