Today's poem is by Wayne Miller
What it was that filled me,
filled me entirely.
The only space left
was inside my fists.
They came alive with me, as a window
comes alive with a sudden,
And I hurled myself against that fucker
was my friend, who again
is my friend. Above us,
seethed with the arriving breakers
of tires, and when a car
it honked and cheered us on. And when
I fell, the pavement confettied
and I slipped from my hands
so they became useless. Our shouting
shuttled between us
like a piston. And then
we were parched;
I found our bottle where I'd left it
by the mailbox,
and that was the end of it.
Except this lip, this knuckle.
who watched from the windowdark,
pressed to your ear. Which
of our words spilled into the pillow
beside you? What
crisscross of circles
lapped at your sleep?
Copyright © 2007 Wayne Miller All rights reserved
from Barn Owl Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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