Poem 18, National Poetry Month: What is Truth?

What is Truth?

Every morning I wake up
in this same low haze
that in its blue says—

    not in so many words—

I won’t be able to go out
today, there won’t be any words
for that.

         I am so resistant to love.

But look!—how grass slips
cool blades between my toes
and dirt is filmy on my fingers.
And hear!—how I have told you

                             these things.
Advertisements
  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: