Over the years, I’ve written a great many because poems — because I am alive, because I feel like it, because I have no idea what else I would, could, or should be doing with the moment at hand. “For Bugs and Birds and Words and Lovers” is one of them. But in light of this unnecessary confession, it seems pretty obvious that they all are.
For Bugs and Birds and Words and Lovers
The way some plants hold the rain until they need it,
or for others who may be passing by,
for bugs and birds and words and lovers,
pools and jewels for all they’ve suffered,
tender, the grass, tender, the skin, tender, the sky,
free at last from foolish thoughts of sin,
fearless in each perfection that makes faces of their hands,
O, where do I begin, if not this precious way to end?
Recently Banned Literature, June 17, 2017
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