Tuesday, March 24, 2015

to whom are we beautiful as we go?








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I wish I understood the beauty
in leaves falling. To whom
are we beautiful
as we go?
I lie in the field
still, absorbing the stars
and silently throwing off
their presence. Silently
I breathe and die
by turns.

He was ripe
and fell to the ground
from a bough
out where the wind
is free
of the branches.


–David Ignatow
Against the Evidence: selected poems





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