Tuesday, October 22, 2013


Earth knocks on my door, as it knocked
early on the door of my father.
For now it's just a trickle; I let it in.
Geraniums are clamoring somewhere
outside.  I too am caught up in that false prophecy
of a world that will never end,
of a consciousness that lingers.
I can barely lie still to watch
the sun pass over me.
So impatient to live, that I make death
come a little closer, so this thing
that is not an entity and I
can check each other out,
fumble around the limits.
Like a parallelogram collapsing
into an escaping sliver of light,
what they call my soul
has eclipsed itself, and I am
already free.

1 comment:

raw poetry by donna snyder said...


As always I am bowled away by your poetry. Since my husband just died, the impact here is doubled. Thank you for the beauty of your work, which only gets better every time I read it.