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.