Poetry 2014 / Volume 45

Travelogue — John Sibley Williams

No matter the stark
snow-capped descriptions,
the foreign rivers that become
through language
any river, your river,
the unpronounceable city
that is your home,

what do you expect to learn
about here

with there
distanced twofold—
eye and word?

Life is a page
that remembers only itself—

still I will try
to give you a mountain
to sleep in,

an estuary that speaks
the shared language of
yes.

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