How Much You Mean to Me I
How much you mean
to me I cannot say:
A word is like the surface of a
Perhaps in ripples you can see my
Pressed into the blue roll of a wave.
my life must be the language of my love.
A word is like the
entrance to a cave:
No light beyond the first quick
No way into chambers never
Into places words cannot convey,
molten fields that move our lives above.
Each word is like a
brushstroke on a nude:
Reality stands dreaming far
Some prefer the portrait and engrave
mundane thought on each divinity.
Reality's a mountain in a
You reach beneath the word to know the
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon