Today's poem is by Dwaine Rieves


Of luck, say what we didn't win.
We acknowledge our fixed
numbers and convoluted equations.

Say we accepted loss, our
lethal mutations, our pitiful
grins and ill-fitting wrinkles.

Say we kept at what kept us
here, bodies piling about
like a season's famous

leaves—incalculable numbers
someone must know. Say
we found the one leaf we

never wanted—veins red, its
heaven streaked as the summer
it became. O holy day.

Copyright © 2006 Dwaine Rieves All rights reserved
from When the Eye Forms
Tupelo Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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