Monday, November 30, 2009

dissension.

[response to Walt Whitman's "Reconciliation," a love of mine]

your words come to him as air he cannot breathe
as he's caught eternally under the sky.
war is a word, and carnage--
but the dead man knows neither anymore.
beneath the earth, a man divine as yourself
knows neither death nor night,
nor does he touch his cold fingers to those of the sisters.
the white face in the coffin
cannot see you bend to him now,

cannot feel your lips
touch against him.

No comments:

Post a Comment