A poem a day in April from Rutgers English PhD students and friends.
Monday, April 6, 2015
breadcrumbs in the wind
the poetry of every moment
is in the witness of its expulsion,
the explosion of every pulse—
every breathing thought made
as like the whirlwind about
each world of us, each life,
each semblance of individuality
under constant yellow sun—
from moon to moon to moon
and every long and shining star;
so we assess the latter
and forget the former,
are free to smile along
before we hear the song,
and run on and over-eager
to the reason we relish and savor;
draw upon immediacy
all the colors of hesitation
because we know the feeling
and feel the meaning turn
love into a loop we walk in circles—
so then we undress, and redress
the issue, the matter of who we are;
there cannot be a system exists,
justly and truly described,
by the elements of which it is
comprised, or devised;
there is no equation or rite of
passage, no one-to-ones:
there is simply the collective dive,
the aim, the hunt, the retrieval;
and the unconscious universe
we've traversed.
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