after Anne Sexton
You are the fervor raised at the bar before closing,
the cry inside these babies screaming,
the beloved frothing in a lover’s mouth,
the gamble in a lifelong cheater,
the endless thirst inside a gutter drunk.
You are the lift in hungry sail cloth,
the push of warming, whistling winds,
the last sun dipping far below
the tremor of a rattling breath.
The running in the river streaming.
No comments:
Post a Comment