MADRIGAL
with you
what I know of
the world
opens, has
that of
swelling, wave as
it tatters, a
ruled line, against
reefs, a
breadth that
still
spreading, breaks
in-
to dull tokens, spent
petals, what the
poem
would
close on, hold
in its
swift tissues, those
blown
ex-
panses,
shadows as
if
pouring, light
from your
fingers, your
blue, un-
loosened sash.
1 comment:
What a lovely poem.
Your blog is wonderful.
I found you through Marie...The Boston Bibliophile.
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