by Diego Calle

               . . . lilies, lilies.

Thy love is as gracious unto me as
the isle of pavement cleaving
                                the car-filled road in twain, buoying
the weary commuter
               sallying into day.

Thy name is as secret manna ’neath my tongue;
I hoard it jealous, squirrel-like, quite insane
                                (’midst the office
(spreadsheets, spreadsheets
               (the base afternoon))).

Thy soft voice inside of my bedroom
has oft resurrected
                                the cimmerian cave of yore: lethe
’neath the cool rock, lethe
               murm’ring, lethe lulling
the lazy high god
                                to sleep
. . .
               . . .

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Diego Calle is a poet from Toronto, Canada. He studies English and cinema at the University of Toronto and works part-time as a library assistant. If interested, his work has been featured in The Woodsworth Review and Aōthen Magazine.