Individual Voices / Natural Forms
Winter, 2006
Louise Nayer
Four A.M.
Your feet shuffle
thousands of miles away.
Mother sleeps
as you collect the darkness.
I want to give you
poems to place on bare walls,
the words
stuck in my throat like bones.
Father, I still don't know
how to love.
I look for momentary pleasure.
I want men to be trees.
I ask too much.
Your voice eases my tears.
It's alright to die once
and come back up.
I know that men collapse too.
It's alright.