Athena McFadden

God gave you words, so you must give them to me.

Let me lie here on the ground

Breaking brittle pine-needles with my fingers.

You have no right to keep a gift—

God gave you words, so you must give them to me.

YOUR words are perfect things—

They are birds with full smooth breasts.

That fly in wide clean skies

And sleep in warm brown nests.

Your words are little globes

Of glass, or ruby-flake;

They tinkle in the air

And whisper as they break.

Your words are little ships

With silver shining sails,

That sing against the winds

Like purple nightingales.

Your words are colored fruits

In crystal jars, and tall.

You break them with your lips;

I catch them as they fall.

So give me your words. Let them slip

Cool fingers through my hair.

There is no world but me, no heaven but you …

Somewhere outside of these there may be birds,

And fruit, and ships, and little crystal globes.

For me there are only your words …