Yvonne Caroutch

When we are like


When we are like
two drunken suns
in the silence of figs
when moist night settles over
dead distant towns
when we hear the thick cry
of seeds buried
beneath layers of earth
we will build a great fire of mint
to announce the marriage
of the rivers' dark soul
with our endless thirst

Yvonne Caroutch



With your fingers of salt and light

With your fingers of salt and light, you raise
the sawn of m thigh. between the house and
the well appears the fragile eye of hope, like a
bolt of lightning at the corner of the roof. The
walls bow down in the silence, as if the sea within
us took back its floor. Solitude batters objects
and clothes them with a skin of inner being.
Words return to the dawn of rock like a river
patiently flowing bak to the sources of death.

Yvonne Carutch

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