The river will sing back.

This is poetry. Please read and enjoy.

The Used Life


we were copper once
	these same eyes
(neither seen nor touched)
now remembered in pictures
in the space of a telephone pole
in the vanishing, slit-black night
	awaken in your body 
and cover you 
like a bed of rain


in these same eyes
	a man unfolds 
like a miracle before a streetlight
he came and played and wept and loved
in sudden vehement colors
if he dances long enough
the earth will remember him
will scatter the ashes on 
	his proud forehead
the river will sing back


that afternoon, i saw 
	a river and entered it
a man stepped into his grave
i sang to him and 
	he sang back
but the river had no 
ideas about itself; no
	remembrance of daffodils 
no fondness for 
	slit-black earth

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