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Tuesday, November 26, 2013



Dorothy Lathrop


I keep these lines by other poets
As talismans that protect these
Fragile words lost to an infinity of things.
They will provide me with an occasional glimpse
Into gardens I could not know otherwise.
Without them I could also not know angels.
Music with its magnificent rooms
Would elude me.  They allow metaphor
To cluster near my lips as if they were
A hive of bees, for they bring a sweetness
To me that makes even the moon
Become a magician and lifts my
Soul through its dreams and fashionings
To find a clarity on the page,
That track across the sea for my
Own odyssey, its changes and terrifying
Delights that push me through
The tapestry from my own room
To the hills of the shepherd
At night, gazing down at the lights
The city below offers as white candles.

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