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Poetry at Sangam

SangamHouse

 










After

It’s Tuesday. The saddest day of the week.
The dawn made holy by her crossing
into the wide river of the universe.

I slept on the rooftop of the world
last night, Ilyse’s name written
into an eternity of distant fires, the cosmos
in mute conversation with my bony frame.

What can eucalyptus do for a wound
that will not heal? My friends,
how can we sing into the wound
when the river is so wide?
 
 
 
← Brian Turner