Today's poem is by Mark Irwin

Potter's Field

                          And if death is poverty
we are rich now, having finally become

                          place now, shadowless we are
at peace. News only to earth

                         now, something to be
still for, over and over again.

                          So much easier to speak
now, as only the wind

                          resembles our breath
now, as only waves

                          lap like tongues, our
only reach that of thirsty

                          green trees. Desire's
ravenous mouth gone

                          now. What we could not
save cannot be spent

                          now, though what we
loved remains, red

                          hearts parachuting,
for we are of earth now

                          and cannot fall again.

Copyright © 2004 Mark Irwin All rights reserved
from Bright Hunger
BOA Editions, Ltd
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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