This is not
any love song,
nor any psalm,
for me.
-
A 20-something’s rush
to the office store,
replace the paper
to write a score.
A truck turns,
and broad-sides his legs,
rescuers drag him, footless and burning,
not to sing, not to beg.
Not a love song,
nor a psalm
…..of a poet
not better off dead.
-
In a still, lone bed
of a rural ICU
a patient with a lung-implant
gasps a poem
I do not know.
The Rag is passed
and the new ear listens.
Is it a better love song
or psalm
sought after
the author's gone?
-
From a month spent
in coma from a stroke:
springs one man,
with one wife,
a universe-city of students,
twin boys full of life,
to teach, to talk,
to hug, to walk,
to reach:
only one-armed not,
but for a love song,
and a psalm for all.
-
She cuts
on her arm,
not for physical pain,
but release of heart’s balm
on her psychic longing,
of a new moment dawning,
again…not better off dead.
-
Not
that I cannot
live without you,
today.
But knowing
I can
see you
again
tomorrow,
is a love song
and a psalm for
a better-off day.
-
( To: Those in Haiti, for the victims, dead or alive)
-
all rights reserved
