Three Poems for January

I return to them As I return to you That dream I never dreamed Or that missing picture in the fireplace mantle. These days are filled with a thousand things So many That the weight of memories bends itself towards forgetting. There is a door that let’s things in–noise, music, images, smells; the smell of onions from the kitchen, family, the hand of a lover. It is horrible and beautiful–for a few moments everything is inevitable! You cannot stop it. There is no need to decide. Nothing will mark this passing No tender words will be uttered Stone will rest precariously on stone But none will stir The trees will stand stupefied A thousand limbs twisted In a pitiful embrace. And not even one bird Will sing Because they have gone.


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