Dickinson
Of all the lives I cannot live,
I have elected one
to haunt me till the margins give
and I am left alone.
One life will vanish from my voice
and make me like a stone--
one that the falling leaves can sink
not over, but upon.
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2 comments:
I enjoyed your poems. Wry at times.
Poem for Emily. I didn't always understand her except perhaps the unrequited part. Maybe its winter already wearing us down?
Thanks very much. Annie Finch is a great writer; I'm glad you liked some of my poems, too.
It's nice to hear from you, as I don't get many visitors out here. I very much like the tone and flow of your blog, which I'm grazing on before I comment where you are.
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