The Gist

I slept above the city
And in my dream
Expectant faces
Of the dead appeared.

Love was rising
Broken hands, Dante’s missing jaw,
The hoof on an ox…

I rose higher
Until the dead-love
Was difficult to see.

“Ah,” said a voice not like my own,
“This is when the soul works best.”

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto