Atlas

Quiet are the whispers in my ear, gently

taking root in my deepest fragments of sleep:

ocean currents welling deep inside, strange beasts

stirring in silent

dark sea dwellings. How softly these black-topped waves

linger in my mind! They presume to whittle

my flesh, strip my bones to the quick, entomb me,

swallow me in sand.

Have they only soft knowledge of the scorch marks

on my hands, where I hold the bright sun? How can

dead seas drown silently the music-maker,

dreamer of dreams, she

who will never sink in the deep and restless

ocean? Eyes upon the horizon, the bowl

of the galaxy on my lips, my tongue strewn

with star fields—I rise.