Sunday, January 9, 2011


Your posture is a gesture
of disaster: poor

woman, thinking of the poorer man
who under all this is sleeping

like a log buried under depths of green
and black turbulent waters

your mother's been slogging through
for years now: I want to ask a question:

did she ever know the knowingness of love?
Or was it a maze of waves: one after the other

with a searing fear there wouldn't be
anymore when she surfaced

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