READING BY MY WINDOW
2nd.july.2017
There is no sound coming up from the street below
no cat is playing in the halls,
my apartment, like me, is quiet
stilled among books
among sunlight coming thru peach curtains.
I wish I could tell you what I’m reading about
a story set in Berlin that I drift in and out of
maybe I’m distracted by memories
maybe it’s not the time to read but eat
and go outside to the breeze and sun.
I READ OF IRELAND
Paul Muldoon writes of barns, sheep, and his ‘Da’
walking outside at dawn, planting, growing, remembering
it is one glimpse to an Ireland I don’t know
but only imagine through his words and cadence
he goes on and on about ‘The Troubles’
driving down a new motorway, his uncle singing
songs from childhoods in green and blue with storms
and winters of wildness, poetry sung, and treasured.
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