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A Different Sensation

Poetry will steer me to another recollection, a different sensation: years later your image suddenly before me like a luminous landscape of yourself rising from the commotion of the street. In the unvanquished light of the sun we met like … Read More

By / May 1, 2006

Poetry will steer me to another recollection, a different sensation: years later your image suddenly before me like a luminous landscape of yourself rising from the commotion of the street.

In the unvanquished light of the sun we met like two birds from a different summer. You looked up and saw your son, with the face of a heathen, the eyes of other gods.

“What can I do, son, to bring you back?” For a moment the sun became the warmth of the womb, and the face that wore pain and drew me in was my face before I was born. All at once the world was different. I knew what I had to know, I recalled all the possible worlds.

And so we stood in the street, crowded by sensation, contemplating our time unhurriedly. A dog set his gaze on us, growling an impasse: To bark or go past– and the day was still imagined and the light held her warm palm in my hand writing this poem.

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