What Lasts Poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
What Lasts
Everything comfortable except your guts
Way inside these missive canyons
Purple authenticity
All these minions of antiques
Dappled by a need for purity
Her blood is pensive fire
The mirror shows a sea
Your hands of spring
Calmed by a small world
I can change so little
Stair way winds like a game
Trees and rivers
Clouds with fractal mystery
Blue gratitude
What lasts is the resurrection
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8/26/2026 1:48:38 AM # rel_20260825T124344Z_022792b
