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"Poetry is the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash." Leonard Cohen

Wednesday, November 5, 2014


Between the clapper hitting the rim of the bell
and the bong hitting the air
The rumour flew into the sky on the wings of
gossip unveiled

I saw her duck out the back door, the gold of
her hair caught bright in the sun
Just breaking open the day, before first mass
announced as the bell rang twice

Trying to decide: should I follow her - or look
for  you youngsters
I decided to take a hike by your place, knowing
she'd go to the church

Sure enough, picked your lock—quieted the dog—
your place was tomb quiet
All three of you sonorous still, so still in fact, I checked to
make sure that you breathed

Satisfied as I get these days, that is to say, not very - I
sat and listened to one of you snuffling
Kept a close watch on the time, let myself out well
before when I knew she'd be back...

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