Hazel Hall


Give me words to please my tongues
And words in futile strands
Like colored beads, to twine among
The shadows in my hands.

Give me words like instruments
Of steel, to probe my mind,
That I may name its impotence
The small dark of the blind.

Give me words at night to calm
Like herbs; these I shall keep
Pressed to the cheek hot on my palm
To thinly scent my sleep.