Today's poem is by Charles Wright

Well, I Still Have My Teeth, And That's Not Nothing

Autumn. We're still like foxfire,
Flitting and flailing, on and off,
                            pinpoints of light, and the night is deep.
At seventy, this life is rare, and has been since time began.

In these late years, I'm only drawn to the stillness.
White clouds drift on and drift on.
In pairs, the birds return to the privet hedge.
                                    The darkness there is their living room.

Copyright © 2011 Charles Wright All rights reserved
from Outtakes
Sarabande Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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