Thursday, April 2, 2009

Poem of the day - April 2nd

by Rae Armantrout

The ghosts swarm.
They speak as one person.
Each loves you.
Each has left something undone.

Did the palo verde blush yellow all at once?
Today's edges are so sharp
they might cut anything that moved.

The way a lost word
will come back unbidden.
You're not interested in it now,
only in knowing where it's been.

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