Because I laugh.
Because you
do,
too. I can't
say no
more.
Sea gulls? Herons?
God? ha
ha.
There isn't an
answer to
this.
I am not
untouchable. I'm
not
anything which has
a name.
Why
is this form
useful? How
did
it become so?
You. You
are
the connection to
this burp
of
cosmo. Ask me
not why.
I
wish I knew.
Galaxy creation.
Stars
as child. "You
will have
a
boy and girl,"
she said.
"You
will meet your
love at
higher
elevation."
Foretelling? I
do not know!
I take it
as it
comes.
You are here.
No others
near.
It goes reaching
for what
I...
know or not.
It moves
me.
This is ineffably beautiful.
ReplyDeleteI predict this poem will find itself migrating through anthologies someday.
Repeatedly.
Thanks, Bill, for pointing it out.
ReplyDeleteRACHEL'S VALENTINE
All love poems call
poetry back (biatch)
to her sweet onions
not in the churches or stage
nor the last mouthful
of self-worship
but in someone else’s eyes
wickedness assembles me
a search party beats it
out of the night the future
forces it to give itself away
my ideals exceed me
by say a country century while I
was passing through your head
reading
your lovely poem.
Bill, thanks! And Peter, I am honored to receive a valentine. I love reading the ones you post on Bill's blog. (also, love the biatch ;)
ReplyDelete