Friday, April 03, 2009

Love Poem

Our loot scored itself.
But it's hard to have a handle on what keeps.
Is this rain, packed in snow? Is this seed?

Tanager, you are what you eat.
Take honey with your bread
and bread with your meat. And turn down

the switch. Locked ward. Door blown open
from the inside.

Read the original: April 3, 2005


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