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by Deborah Rosch Eifert

A bond must hold

between language and mouth –

Create cohesion by singing

inside a funnel-cloud of bees.

Carve all possible prayers into an iceberg,

then go home.

Isn’t a house of leaves enough? If not,

try gathering the sounds of leaves falling.

Wear a dress sewn of water,

then run uphill.

Gather that sound.

You can’t hold time

if it’s burning away –

don’t waste your life grasping.

Drown your name –

drown all the names –

making the sweetness of naming even deeper.

If there are

no maps,

be a cartographer of weeds,

of sand dunes,

of fog.

Create the only map –

write its legend

on the waves.

Deborah Rosch Eifert is a poet and clinical psychologist. Her poetry has been published in Whiskey Island Quarterly and accepted for publication in the "Poets of Maine 2018" anthology. She is a past recipient of the Cleveland State University English Department Undergraduate Creative Writing Award. Dr. Rosch Eifert lives and writes in Maine.


October 2019

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