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For all I know they do
not exist, the spring peepers, because I have never seen one and may die before or because of it, as love, which I have heard most clearly in the dark, (sometimes-- the embaressment of it-- on all fours or on knees) but not seen and left to imagination filled all the holes the dark might dig grown mightier than its form, so that the sky could not contain it nor the heart, and both breaking as they may in rain or jaggedness saturated the earth and melted the last snow. Here, among this insistent new green I do not believe more than I did, forced to put faith in nothing surrounded by everything buried in the song. Comments are closed.
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Poetry LogPoems 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. Archives
January 2020
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Unless otherwise noted, all content ©Paul-William Gagnon, Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-NoDerivs license.
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