The Angel of my Tongue

Peter Christensen
From:   To Die Ascending. Saskatoon, Saskatchewan: Thistledown Press, 1988.

I will lay
dry sticks in the sun
befriend the mouth of fire.

I will be judged
by earth and wind.
There will be serpent tongues.
In the dry season
I will be afraid.

The savannah must burn.
Deer run in the hot blast
mice cower in their brains
hawks follow the fire line.
Snake will coil
strike my heart
earth and wind
will assume ash.

My logic will begin
the angel of my tongue      speak.
My hands will be the wind
and I will kiss
the mouth of fire
again and again.

Poem 1 | Poem 2 | Poem 3 | Poem 4 | Poem 5 | Poem 6

Peter Christensen's works copyright © to the author.