The tumult in the heart 
keeps asking questions. 
And then it stops and undertakes to answer 
in the same tone of voice. 
No one could tell the difference. 

Uninnocent, these conversations start, 
and then engage the senses, 
only half-meaning to. 
And then there is no choice, 
and then there is no sense; 

until a name 
and all its connotation are the same.

Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 5079 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Elizabeth Bishop
Poem: Conversation
Volume: A Cold Spring
Year: Published/Written in 1955
Poem of the Day on:
May 12 2004
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