Saturday, 30 January 2016

1 New Poem


If summer came early next year,
the long light strikes against
blessings chalk of cheek, making
deeper gold, tainting with denied nature,
it wouldn’t be swallowed so hasty this
time, it wouldn’t be so hesitant as

No longer the clumsy embittered
poise of college bookkeepers in limerick
embraces, but the Greco-column
marble of lasting arm-wrapped
ecstasy measures.

But a recaptured scan never
lights up as fictional paper,
possibilities burning up quick
for that.

And everything after August
as metallic hallway echo,

everything after as refracted autumn sun,
everything after as half-won prize.

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