Poetry at Sangam

SangamHouse

 










Small Debate

When you used the small word on me
it weighed so heavy I could only walk downhill;
by morning I was up to my neck in a river
trying to drown the meaning out.

The older we get the more the small word
turns grisly; we are stepping into the narrowing
shadow of a very tall loneliness. I am a pessimist.

I don’t believe in the reliability of language.
I don’t believe in the reliability of passion.
I believe that you used the word honestly
by which I mean that you meant to mean it.