a poem on living, lately
When I was young I was enveloped in a kind of young light. It loved me so much it was eating me. I can now call it nothing but tender. So imaginative I grew and built it a box built for quiet. Can you see my secret, hidden and glowing? Something I’ve never understood: it is easy to sit at the table with your head down, but it is not good. It is simple to write poem after poem about being tired while you do not sleep. These poems circle secrets without touching, hungry bellies full of fear. Love means forgiveness, constant. My love for the body that wades me across an eternal river. Before I was young, oh please, take me out of the bright light, memory of a peaceful night. This may be the strangest time in my life. Until tomorrow comes in this grove of neverending where the days are illuminated, the days fall from bone in the light.
