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"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Isabel Chenot


Echoes of Love

The house is creaking like a rocking chair.
I'm small again,
comforted by the sway of matter in a shift of air,
cosseted by wind.

Undulate earth, how do you slip your hum
around our roar
of concrete, needles, neon, wadded gum,
demented hungers, war,

discarded children? Your lap is full of us
and of our wrong.
How can you simplify the noise
to cradle our first song?