From a notebook, 1982, Helsinki

Only Bread, only light

After so much is said and the candles are low…

I’m no match for the godless nights
And if there are gods I’m no match for them either
I build a fence badly, tear it down after dark


I used to love Wallace Stevens
I was young


Thus the dog bursts into my poem
Follows me home

A mild wind follows the dog


Up river where a stand of birches leans
Walking with a spent candle in my coat

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University

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