Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Yahrtzeit, for my father, 7/15/89

There is a flame
that has no name.

it came
before a time
when flames
had names.

it smells
of pinks and reds
and featherbeds
and wooly cheeks
and spider's webs.

it burns
inside
my ancient
head;

it does not know
the king is dead.

em

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