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A Cargo of Green Hearts
~POEMS~

Durga

1/16/2020

 
it’s enough to have got
this far, truant from the dust.
the sea’s uneven
gravity, the way the horizon
wraps me in its orange sail.
I am misunderstanding Itself
but the sun shines through
my thin ribs.
it’s the light that blinds them
and I’m not responsible for that.

I long since stopped wearing
the shirts they made for me;
no offense to the Monkey King
but my path is different
when I bow my whole body
dissolves. I’ve died on
the floor and will again.
when the sea takes me at
last no one will notice.
the sand will never stop.
someday her hand will arrive
reckless and green and I’ll be gone.
I am not a servant, I’m her beloved
don’t talk foolishly to me
as if there is no difference.

January 16th, 2020

1/16/2020

 
​the moon rises
spilling argent
coins over a
burnished earth.
I sleep through
it and dream
I deserve nothing.

01/09/2020

1/9/2020

 
​the wind all night
as if trying to
peel the roof off
like a can opener
reminded me of
everything I've lived
the heart as
a wrecking ball
but this time as if
in the hurricane
love but no human
love as if embrace
within the whirlwind if
no one will
have my back
let the sky itself
have it let the wind
have at it as the
eraser-tongued
bodhisatvas said
let there be no
daylight between
my heaven and
earth.

01/05/2020

1/5/2020

 
​and now you go.
the ice has poured
is frozen muscle through
the windows and the
house is unlivable.
your heart swells
as if to take the place
of your house.
you must live there
now, among the
red doors and windows
carrying this house
being carried by it.
your name is now
heart. your purpose,
heart. you're doing this
right now, straight on
through winter.

Three Geese

1/2/2020

 
​three geese flew across the lake
which was frozen
listen: they will land
somewhere, just not
here where you
can see them.
I thought
I would die when
the water hardened
I thought the earth
had been cast into
outer space like
a discarded apple
core. the frogs had
departed with their
squeaking green
suitcases
and I was alone
only the trees
observed my sorrow
nakedly my
vocabulary shrunken
to verbs consumed
in the mechanics of
firemaking
Durga, if your eyes are
still green tell me if
I am meant to see
the landing of the geese.
if I must be dragged
forcibly to April
please, as if I am
still a worthy human being
(and not an ox)
keep pulling by the heart
not the nose.

    Poetry Log

    Poems  are posted here when I'm ready to share them. I often don't title my poems. The date you see above the poem may be the date it was posted here and not necessarily the date it was created.  To see more, click on the Archives below. 

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    Unless otherwise noted, all content ©Paul-William Gagnon, Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-NoDerivs license.
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