July 29, 2013 § 1 Comment

This is what I mean when I say “rough”–
a bad dream, loud noise, a steely
Norwegian rock formation with a name
I can’t pronounce. The kind of water
that capsizes.

This is what I mean when I say “old”–
elephants, buildings, Chinatown.
Dried blood on surgical scissors, every garden
smaller than I remember.

When I say “soft and new,” I don’t mean
the absence of edges; I mean a world
without physics. I mean the rocks
and the rough and the elephant tusks,
but even the falling — upward.
I mean your nose, and the rain,
and all the poems that never came.


*Prompted by Truth Thursday.


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