October 16, 2012

poem 383 of a poem a day for 2012

the inside of the poem again

so the poem
is the safe haven grays
a mask, laden in the haze
of every color and want
the places I retreat to
when the world seems
a crushing spot to be
this is where I go
when I need to empty
into a place where
the well can run dry
and the grasses can burn
turning to a brown weep
in Autumn’s quiet,
cold seep of an embrace
of ritual erase

the pace of painting
night after night
stills my mind’s hectic race
where Summer is every woman
in a rocking chair dream
nodding as we go to our knees
cloud seeding what can be
strung to time
one to the next
outside open windows
the piper, paper and pen
can stand empty handed
like a waiting expression
left to wonder
when is it safe
to be outside
the inside
of the poem again


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