the thing it is
no melody
nor canyon
nor place of rent
the rule of the word the thought of the absence
here growing
no one will remember it
for too long
no one can possess it
the winter in summer
and in winter the deeper winter
colder than the sky
it warms the mind
for the work of doing
uttering sleep
shaking the boughs of the trees
the buildings ornery unkept whispering
whispering words
redeeming use
ringing
the thing of it
harrows fine
focuses the edges
fears the edge
and the world
old thing for dancing
flinging about your knees on
ringing the old butt on
harmony huge but unbecoming
becoming years
without companion
without compensation
wear the weight for the fortuitous claim of justice
like a warm summer
a light rain
no rain is coming
nor any regret
mark each absence as a ghost
who is speaking
silence is a weapon
a cloud of smoke
bouts of amnesia
the future
Poetry Reading -- Irene Sheri
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