01 April 2008

A poem for Claude

Which poem would you have loved next? Which one

Would have gotten you out of your chair,

Impatiently turning through pages so fine

I would see the pink in your hands? And the blue

Inside of your veins. And the black of each printed

Letter. Somehow it would all come together.

You’d push your now-wild hair to one side

Until you found it: Your latest treasure.

And in one of the half-dozen languages you read,

You’d read it, translating for my benefit,

Your finger at rest on the text

Like you’re taking its pulse. Like what else is there.

This poem you would have loved next.

Its heart beats, somewhere.

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