William Gibson
LETTERS TO MY WITCH
1.
BOULDER
I could say once my hand dug me news,
And was glad in the rock;
The aspens were food to my knuckle,
The far gorgehead snows
Were a well in my palm, and glee roared
Where ledgefalls dived;
For my digger swore witness that love
Was a wind in my ear:
Now the rocks sit broken like eggshells,
And a great bird
is
flown.
Time to wither my hand as a touchstone.
Whose am I, love,
That love can be hard as a boulder
And bulk in my throat,
And my mountains you witched into motes
On my eyeball, cajoler?
2. LODESTOME
Now is the day when the boulder
is
halved,
And its lodes are divorced.
I snap in the graveyards of forests the oddities
Woodlike and mossed,
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