I love these first few lines of Dean Young's poem maybe too much:
I love you he said but saying it took twenty years
so it was like listening to mountains grow.
I love you she says fifty times into a balloon
then releases the balloon into a room
whose volume she calculated to fit
the breath it would take to read
the complete works of Charlotte Brontë aloud.
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3 comments:
this is painfully perfectly beautifully perfect.
p.s. i just realized our blog is barely more than a week old and already so wise - seriously, what a treasure. i want to make this into a book i can carry around in my pocket.
love this too much?
Not possible.
And it amazes me that the sound of these words can carry across the droning crash of pacific waves.
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