Of poetry they say much…

Of poetry they say much
Leaves whisper, for instance,
But who will say—
Leaves to themselves are alien
And lost to their neighbors


Was anyone ever as lonely
As Lorca in New York?
I was blind
In summer rain—
Child beside a grave


So much talk of poems
As if we could merge
With the stones
In this building
Beside the cemetery


What did Jesus do with the coin
With Tiberius on the one side
Where is it buried
Under whose house
What was on the other face?


Reading the old critic
“Taking it in” as they say
His fascinations
Are zoological
And not bookish at all


The one promise of poems:
In you I am a present tense
That’s something
Now we’re life overloaded

Author: skuusisto

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

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