When someone dies
you forget about them
or you don't. Either way
it's like carrying a bale
of river-weeds across
a small patch of sun.
Everything is like that. Or it's not.
Or it's like an impending kiss.
Soft and wet and not yet here
or past. When you come in the back
door I'm petting the shoe
with intensity and care.
I thought it was relative
to something else. I thought
you'd be home later.
3 comments:
Totally beautiful. And dense. And good. Miss you, your poems, this site, etc. m.
Love it! Lots of stuff going on in there that gets the gears in my head moving. The shoe image is rad. Thanks for sharing, Ben. I miss this site and you guys, too. I hope all is well with you "songbirds."
G
I'm glad you guys like the poem. It's part of a series of poems called The Analects of Confusion, loosely based on The Analects of Confucius.
Post some poems. I need inspiration/ideas.
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