the Tattooed Quaker (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} slomosexual) wrote,@ 2009-06-18 07:51:00 |
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Song by Charles Simic
Song
There's a house on the tip of a branch.
It sways in the Summer breeze.
The great tree won't let it fall
Even when the wind comes to shake it.
Its only door is a beak. It opens
To steal the starlight. Inside
You can see the ribs. It's a house so tiny
It can fit in the dark of my eye.
When I close that eye, I can hear the sea in the other.
It bears the house through the night.
With my tongue I touch its prow from within,
With my breath I blow
The candles in the captain's cabin.
When sleep overtakes me,
I say good-by to the house.
I lower onto my heart
All that it cannot ferry on.
-Charles Simic
Song
There's a house on the tip of a branch.
It sways in the Summer breeze.
The great tree won't let it fall
Even when the wind comes to shake it.
Its only door is a beak. It opens
To steal the starlight. Inside
You can see the ribs. It's a house so tiny
It can fit in the dark of my eye.
When I close that eye, I can hear the sea in the other.
It bears the house through the night.
With my tongue I touch its prow from within,
With my breath I blow
The candles in the captain's cabin.
When sleep overtakes me,
I say good-by to the house.
I lower onto my heart
All that it cannot ferry on.
-Charles Simic
