Softwoods
We utter nothing
true high
among the needled
fictions we create
so many opportunities
for truth
as it happens
continually
not only up here
but also under growth
where we sink
down in bogs
filled
with resolve
nothing we utter
is true
still
we groan
gape
and push a new
thing out.
Rooms and Their Airs
Milkweed Editions
from Poetry Daily
Renga # 12
And there are too many we refuse:
salesmen and begging children
and forgiveness. Yet some
we grow to accept: to lie,
deny, then nod our heads
and close our eyes, old men
in bed, begging for our lives.
sasha, ramblingsoul
