Elm

I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root; It is what you fear. I do not fear it: I have been there.
Is it the sea you hear in me, Its dissatisfactions? Or the voice of nothing, that was you madness?
Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it. Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse.
All night I shall gallup thus, impetuously, Till your head is a stone, your pillow a little turf, Echoing, echoing.
Sylvia Plath

01. Es
02. war
03. einmal.

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