Tongue of Language
Oh tongue of language, moving with your comb
past awful words to make the peace your home,
you are still my companion, though your love
still alters me, and ruins what I move
along to do, and kills me with you, love;
you love in words, you don’t know what you move.
Opening light calls the river back to see
where the old nightmare has risen from, when she
calls herself back in the rhythm that is she.
Nightmare, oh woman lost in the depths of me,
lost to the rage that has risen up with me,
lost till I ride you home–nightmare of me.