A hundred stanzas linger by the stem of a book –
poems converge to a little title, emboldened by texture.
The little boats dare not betray the bank –
the pull of the margin, a protection against
interpretation.
Letters, obliterated by the lamppost;
meanings, congruent to the light –
nobody gets the poet right.
poems converge to a little title, emboldened by texture.
The little boats dare not betray the bank –
the pull of the margin, a protection against
interpretation.
Letters, obliterated by the lamppost;
meanings, congruent to the light –
nobody gets the poet right.
No comments:
Post a Comment