Poems of the Week: 2011–2012
Tears sometimes come in a bottle. Open and apply several times daily.
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For two days I’ve been weeping over a nineteenth-century novel.
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They’re still there since they never grew old. The story is never finished.
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She countered the reverence of his efforts stroke by stroke, tit for tat.
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I roam the dirt with the law in my teeth, a widower in search of a widow.
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Charge the ground till it glitters. It was God’s pleading in that rink.
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She’s coming back, her arms full of the flowers I gave her once a year.
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