Today's poem is by Christof Scheele
I took eight falls. The falls took
seven pills. Behind my lids
the pills have taken wives. I take
their measured gift, their box
of gauze. Beneath the lid I take
a breath of gauze. The breath reclines.
It won't get up. I find
its cotton weight. My skin has
boxed my hands away. They found
a hinge to pry. The box is
seven itches long. I find
my eighth day's dose inside it.
The eighth day understands
for seven years. True love resides
in fog. When fog stands
in for touch, I try to break
its fall. The first fall stood
for grace. The second hangs.
It won't come down. I sit
below through eighty-seven
loves. The worst love sat
through vows to break the second
seal. The best seal lied. I sit
to take its gift. Its gift reclines.
Copyright © 2004 Christof Scheele All rights reserved
from Green Mountains Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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