Treasure Island

Li-Young Lee


This Hour And What Is Dead


Tonight my brother, in heavy boots, is walking
through the bare rooms over my head,
opening and closing doors.
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  • Joel Mitchell (2/24/2010 11:16:00 PM)

    this posting is incomplete...
    this poem continues:

    God, that old furnace, keeps talking
    with his mouth of teeth,
    a beard stained at feasts, and his breath
    of gasoline, airplane, human ash.
    His love for me feels like fire,
    feels like doves, feels like river-water.

    At this hour, what is dead is helpless, kind
    and helpless. While the Lord lives.

    Someone tell the Lord to leave me alone.
    I've had enough of his love
    that feels like burning and flight and running away. (Report) Reply

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