If man were meant to fly, he would have been given wings.
And then the teacher died, never quite imagining.
Dear old, poor old soul — and so they buried him in poetry.
At the End of a Wooden Handle
This glorious day, right where you find it,
at the end of a wooden handle,
(picture a tool no one understands or remembers how to use)
(part grandfather-scent of earth-dyed figs)
autumn a harbor
autumn a need
autumn a child
autumn a love
autumn a grave
autumn a sun
autumn, live grass dying
autumn, dead grass living
autumn, the last dried sage in your hand
(and how the wood feels in your hand)
Recently Banned Literature, September 9, 2015
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Categories: Recently Banned Literature