Suppose.

Siv Cedering

Suppose I were as clever as a bird
and the words for what I am
could be contained
in one precise song,
repeated, repeated
while each jubilant phrase
spells it all
in variations
too refined for the human ear

Or that the song has not yet been found
but waits inside me
like the long note that sounds
when a blade of grass
is placed between the thumbs
and blown

It could be
that the place my words are looking for
will turn out to be so small
that there will be room for nothing
but silence
or an ocean so large
some waves will never reach
the sound of the shore