On the altar a mirror,
leaves you sent from the north.
In the reflection I see you,
my darkened voice in your mouth.
Fresh leaves would be red,
but I’ve kept your old brown ones.
I rub them between my hands.
Listen to their dry tongues
seek words to moisten the silence.
Links to external sites do not constitute endorsements by King County. By visiting this and other King County web pages, you expressly agree to be bound by terms and conditions of the site. Terms of Use | Privacy Policy
