|
Untitled
By nathan long
From this sweet salt,
I will make you emeralds
and aquamarine. From this
pale metal, I will forge you
glass that will not melt.
Let me take this sweet
bivalent and make of it
an instrument that spins
to tell us where we are.
Let me form a cord of it
to run between your lips
and mine, so we can talk
to one another faster
than sound has ever
traveled before.
|