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Poem for Charles Wright
How utterly delicious are your lines, sleek,
slender, driven and sharp the way Neruda
might have been proud, a breath's break,
simple surrender on the page, what an ellipsis
cannot gather, the images summon like gifts
given to a poor man, a village in harvest
after a long drought, no regrets in this ocean
of words, a multitude of vessels blown seaward
against a dark violet horizon, a buzzing of saw,
a hiss of motor, like a lawnmower, cutting
the fresh-dewed grass, under your soothing
hand of truth lies beauty, fertile like yellow,
no, ochre, pregnant does stopped on the edge
of the pastures where the corn rises like spears,
the morning fogged with their quick breathing.
A cardinal shoots across the expanse of yard
like a gob of red-hot lava out of the volcano's
mouth, all along the way, bleeding your name.
Virgil Suarez (Click for bio.)