Thinking of Eliot I go up in smoke
Do I dare
disturb the universe? What a question,
for one of
those ancient women gathering
fuel in vacant
lots. There is no returning,
only the
present, with a growing burden of garnered
past. Thunder
and rubies become garlic and
sapphire – mud
sets, clots around your churning
in my ground. Cool
springs nowhere in sight;
every voice withers
like the stuttering of the nightingale
but what’s been
uttered remains, repeats
forever and forever
differently the message
of the rabid, persisting,
unquenchable
creeping fire.
To see the original poem, go to here
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