Wednesday, June 28, 2017



I wish I had the capacity
                                        to see through my own death.
Some flash light, some force of flame
Picking out diamond points
                                 of falling leaves and the river of stars.
This is the year I'm scraping the ice away from its sidewalks.
This is the year I've slid its shoes off.
This is the year I've started to keep it company,
                                                                           and comb its hair.

–Charles Wright


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