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What You Forgot

by Jim Moore

Come back, old friend.
Labor with me a while
To mend these broken rungs of language,
The relics of grammar that rumble like a storm
That’s been searching for you.

There’s still time to know the secret,
The bounty that lies on the shores of open hands—
The rows of words that search for you, even now,
And leave their tale in the remnants of structured towers,
Become ghosts spreading breadcrumbs to the floor.


Posted on 09/08/2010
Copyright © 2019 Jim Moore

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Charlie Morgan on 09/08/10 at 02:05 PM

...jim, this is quite heavy...a good write, a good read.

Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 09/08/10 at 02:49 PM

"Broken rungs of language." I love it.

Posted by Stephan Anstey on 09/13/10 at 03:08 PM

good work.

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