Sunday, 4. November 2007
Another Daydream Of Beatrice
In which he sees her radiant in
red-bronze at the end of long hallway -
no, not "sees", but hears her laugh over
the steady silence of the assembled spirits, a lighthouse's roving spear which tows and pulls him shorewards even in his sleep's dark,
towards her bare shoulders to place his palms
- which haven't touched a lyre in years - upon, as if he were snatching the oars from Charon's grip.
My Poems
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