Wednesday, July 1, 2009

poem by Charles Wright

Still Life On A Matchbox Lid

The heart is colder than the eye is.
The watchers, the holy ones,
know this, no short cut to the sky,
a single dog hair can split the wind.

If you want great tranquility,
it's hard work and a long walk.

Don't brood on the past.
The world is without appendages,
no message, no name.

_____