Irony—a live crow carrying a dead one
Flies into a house you might say
“Nature” and you’d be right.
Up river beyond the city
People die at the same rate
Some singing at the end—
You might say “nature”
And you’d be right.
My neighbor comes to me
With his old books.
He’s a lonesome man
Who believes words matter.
Sometimes I want to end a poem
Too soon, what with the pain.
Planet of the Blind 
There’s a grace here in the last four lines. Not that there isn’t beauty before that, but those last four lines, well, grace is the thing for which I return to poetry again and again. Something about this reminds me of a Mark Strand poem. If only I knew which one.
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There’s a grace here in the last four lines. Not that there isn’t beauty before that, but those last four lines, well, grace is the thing for which I return to poetry again and again. Something about this reminds me of a Mark Strand poem. If only I knew which one.
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