a poet's heart is a mouse in one
of Billy Collins' poem; a cement truck
in Ted Koosers', a creek in Harrison's.

visions lasting a hairs width, only.
i see these hands. tired from travel.
someday will be placed across my chest;

and so much left to say, to talk about.
so much of the Universe to feel, see, inhale;
memeories placed carefully in the cedar chest

of life; used and abused wedding dress,
childhood crayon drawings, eternity is
just around the bend. outrunning life itself.

and we poets can only use words to heal.
if not the world, at least maybe ours.

09/14/2010

Posted on 09/14/2010
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan