If things aren't things So much as happenings, Or a confluence even More complex, Then there's no such thing As sky, though sky Is real, and we Have not imagined it. The everlasting Never began. Everything, then, Is the direction everything Moves in, seeming Not to move. I am waiting For something very Nice to happen, And then it happens: Your long dark Hair sweeps Across my chest Like sweeps of prairie Rain. Loveliest Of motion's possessions, Hold me still. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHAMBER MUSIC: 28 by JAMES JOYCE WHITE NOCTURNE by CONRAD AIKEN AFTER TWO YEARS by RICHARD ALDINGTON AN EXPATIATION ON THE COMBINING OF WEATHERS AT THIRTY .... by HAYDEN CARRUTH A PARADOX by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE MOTHER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO THE MARTYRED by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |