Today's poem is by Nance Van Winckel
And the Wound Says
Step into the river and let the ripples cool us.
The spawned-out salmon, a few days
discreetly dead, are a so-so meal
for the gulls. Look away.
I've ridden you, and you me,
as far as we can ride. Recall
our old darts and dashes
between black trees because
you believed watercress
bloomed up through the algea.
Don't cling. Don't try to resist.
Thorn in the quick of being, I am
what I am. Object of non-desire.
Nothing more pure.
Did you expect the throb
to throw a less delirious fit of welcome?
Kneel. Even as the cold rushes forth
above our heat, so our heat
grinds on below.
Copyright © 2005 Nance Van Winckel All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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