Elka Cloke

“And down she walked along the street,A handsome lad she hoped to meetAnd sore by dawn were her dainty feetBut all the boys were gay.”

“This Bitter LanguageI know your streets, sweet city,I know the demons and angels that flockand roost in your boughs like birds.I know you, river, as if you flowed through my heart.I am your warrior daughter.There are letters made of your bodyas a fountain is made of water.There are languagesof which you are the blueprintand as we speak themthe city rises.”