|
|
 |
|
|
User Rating: |
|
9.0
/10
(22
votes)
|
|
|
|
|
|
Summer is late, my heart.
Words plucked out of the air
some forty years ago
when I was wild with love
and torn almost in two
scatter like leaves this night
of whistling wind and rain.
It is my heart that's late,
it is my song that's flown.
Outdoors all afternoon
under a gunmetal sky
staking my garden down,
I kneeled to the crickets trilling
underfoot as if about
to burst from their crusty shells;
and like a child again
marveled to hear so clear
and brave a music pour
from such a small machine.
What makes the engine go?
Desire, desire, desire.
The longing for the dance
stirs in the buried life.
One season only,
and it's done.
So let the battered old willow
thrash against the windowpanes
and the house timbers creak.
Darling, do you remember
the man you married? Touch me,
remind me who I am.
Stanley Kunitz
|
|
Read poems about / on: dance, music, summer, remember, house, child, rain, song, wind, sky, heart, night, life, children
|
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
Comments about this poem (Touch Me
by
Stanley Kunitz
) |
|
Click here to write your
comments about this poem (Touch Me by
Stanley Kunitz
)
 |
Beth Larsen Larsen
(4/17/2005 7:19:00 PM) |
I agree with Haydn, and also see a [possible broader sense of the importance of touch by a loved one, a touch which can bring us back to ourselves when we may have 'strayed off the ranch'.
|
|
|
|
Haydn Daly
(3/24/2005 8:42:00 PM) |
inspirational to someone approaching their seventies
|
|
Read all
2
comments >>
|
|
|
 |
 |
 |
|
|
 |
|
People who read
Stanley Kunitz
|
 |
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
