More Poems by Cecelia Night Vision Spinning Wheels Wish Drawing Lesson Song for the End of May The Visitors Passage More About Cecelia

Cecelia Hagen Without I drink from a glass without a rim I stand on a ladder without rungs I sleep in a bed with only my body, my body from which the day's accumulations drop away as I move in dreams all night inside my solitude. I ride the horse's back without a saddle I pedal my bicycle with no hands No tongue, speechless, when I move into some thought like an ice cave, slippery, forbidding. I eat without chewing, food sliding right past the guardian teeth. I make fires without matches, swim without touching a drop, see without light. I find my way, make music without notes.