...the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life...

Monday, November 4, 2013

Poem Beginning with a Line from Milton

Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star,
The face in my periphery is gone—
Or was it a bird that flitted from a tree?
My sight never was perfect, yet these things
I’ve named doubt my perception and my place,
As here there are no trees, no faces not
Covered by masks, and the stars are screened withal
By smoke rising from torches and burning cars.

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