Words

 

 

Agnelo Bronzino

Words

 

Always the arriving winds of words

Pour like Atlantic gales over these ears,

These reefs, these foils and fenders, these shrinking

And sea-scalded edges of the brainland.

Rebutted and rebounding, on they post

Past my remembrance, falling all unplanned.

But some day out of the darkness they'll come forth,

Arrowed and narrowed into my tongue's tip,

And speak for me -- their most astonished host.

 

W.R. Rodgers

The image of words as a wind, a storm, as waves hitting the "sea-scalded edges of the brainland" is so perfectly fitting.

Ceaseless, loud, battering - this is a familiar, daily experience.

The thought that some day this gale might turn, might come from me instead of at me,

I'm not sure if that's a good thing.