SLick Rock Creek, September

by Ursula K. Le Guin

My skin

touches the wind.

A lacewing fly touches my hand.

I speak too slow

for her to understand.

Rock’s warm under my hand.

It speaks too slow

for me to understand.

I drink sunlit water.

“Slick Rock Creek, September” by Ursula K. Le Guin

Used by permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. Copyright © 1979

All Rights reserved.