Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Larkin by Peter Sacks


Pull back the lining of the normal thought
Black moss. Old brick. Lopsided moon.
O Truth; O Grief; O Clarity! O.K.
Again. This time let's get it right.
The only memory worth savoring—
Your sour breath against the pane
Wiped clearer for it—bright, unwavering.

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