A handful of sand, blowing in the wind,
distributes each particle on each
blade of grass, petal of a flower, droplet of water.
Hold me in your hands and let me fly
in Nature's face.
Let her kiss my face! and distribute me thus.
Do not weep for my body;
do not let me rot.
Release me from your touch,
and let me await your soft breath.
Let your tears quench my thirst
and cleanse your body from grief.
In a box, dark and damp, I cannot
feel the warmth of the sun.
Let not the grass grow from my decay,
but sway and bend from my kiss.
- ► 2017 (90)
- ► 2006 (17)
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- Ah, Whitman! The leaves of grass may be dead, yell...
- Oh sorrow! Oh depression!
- In the style of William Carlos Williams (or poems ...
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- While balancing an orange on the round tupperware,...
- Within these walls
- the waiting room
- Modest Proposal
- #1 son
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- Take me out of this moment, this place in time, an...
- on writing
- what the heck?
- mysterious country
- today, tonight
- two children
- on writing poetry
- ▼ March (35)