Apology To Keats - Poem by Lee Upton
How the season surrounds us and mistakes
itself for some other force,
while we may be left wondering:
What was she doing
with our bolt of wishes?
through the ground with the spoils
of acorn, gourd.
inverted into a swollen detail,
until what we wished for squeaked
half-liquid and ripe
under our breastbones,
turning us pliant to one world in another world,
the point of falling, of leave-taking,
wind-shuffled and splitting.
Like fire and time, it must be stolen
What's fallen is anyone's.
What comes through air to ground.
Just that much space.
A short dive.
Think how easy it would be to ruin our lives.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You