INSUBSTANTIAL CONGERIES
The last paragraph, just before the ending,
that's the one that caught my eye; ripped
it from the socket, in fact. So swiftly,
with such an idea, I was propelled from
my little seat. Previous to this, like James
Merrill, I spoke with the dead?
-
I never know what to do with picture
books. The old Unitarian graveyard in
Dublin, PA? Those photo lists of the
1950's and 1960's poets? Baseball stars,
in 1924? All they make me do is shrug.
-
They day that the sound of one hand
clapping is an echo? They say that
cardiograms can be read as words
in another language? That Milton was
here before Adam? No, none of this
can be, and we all know that - even
Blake at Felpham Manor. Butt, still,
he got his work done.
-
No one can just leave the world:
there's always something left behind.
We remember the glimmer, the shadow,
the thought, the mind.
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