A Cargo of Green Hearts
~POEMS~
when I was a little confused
I was most irredeemable but when truly lost my body blown out upon the stones of it — whatever betrayal whatever crushing rectangle, whatever assassinated bird-- I’d found I’d returned to the old room of my heart to discover all the doors unlocked as if no one had ever left home, and the illumination coming through the windows, tender, as in morning or before evening, the to-ing and fro-ing hours of life and living creatures and electrons my bed still there, a bare patch of ground by the woodstove —simple but worn soft through suffering-- a cup of tea, still hot the writing desk (waiting like a butler) from which I have always been able, before nightfall, to compose a poem and die and in dying, the words like a coin placed between my lips, awaken. Comments are closed.
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Poetry LogPoems are posted here when I'm ready to share them. I often don't title my poems. The date you see above the poem may be the date it was posted here and not necessarily the date it was created. To see more, click on the Archives below. Archives
January 2020
CategoriesUnless otherwise noted, all content ©Paul-William Gagnon, Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-NoDerivs license.
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