Not easy to state the change you made. <br />If I'm alive now, then I was dead, <br />Though, like a stone, unbothered by it, <br />Staying put according to habit. <br />You didn't just tow me an inch, no- <br />Nor leave me to set my small bald eye <br />Skyward again, without hope, of course, <br />Of apprehending blueness, or stars. <br /> <br />That wasn't it. I slept, say: a snake <br />Masked among black rocks as a black rock <br />In the white hiatus of winter- <br />Like my neighbors, taking no pleasure <br />In the million perfectly-chisled <br />Cheeks alighting each moment to melt <br />My cheeks of basalt. They turned to tears, <br />Angels weeping over dull natures, <br />But didn't convince me. Those tears froze. <br />Each dead head had a visor of ice. <br /> <br />And I slept on like a bent finger. <br />The first thing I was was sheer air <br />And the locked drops rising in dew <br />Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay <br />Dense and expressionless round about. <br />I didn't know what to make of it. <br />I shone, mice-scaled, and unfolded <br />To pour myself out like a fluid <br />Among bird feet and the stems of plants. <br />I wasn't fooled. I knew you at once. <br /> <br />Tree and stone glittered, without shadows. <br />My finger-length grew lucent as glass. <br />I started to bud like a March twig: <br />An arm and a leg, and arm, a leg. <br />From stone to cloud, so I ascended. <br />Now I resemble a sort of god <br />Floating through the air in my soul-shift <br />Pure as a pane of ice. It's a gift.<br /><br />Sylvia Plath<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-letter/
