Today's poem is by Charles Rafferty
It was difficult living
with that relentless perfection.
He wouldn't tell me
how the water turned
to wine, and he never did it
for me eitheronly
for strangers, only for a crowd.
I remember him
as someone who was always leaving
to work his magic"
in the streetsamong the men
who clearly hated him, the women
who somehow didn't.
He was a lamp that lit my failings.
He showed me the cracks
in everything I thought and taught me
to fill them with the music
of his mystery, which he sang
in a key beyond my range,
and which everyone around me
kept trying to hum.
Copyright © 2016 Charles Rafferty All rights reserved
from the Southern Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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