Friday, 11 November 2016

on the death of a poet

It is brave to dance
Maybe there will always be poets
And we were fortunate
To have them render unto us
At first hand

The moment of creation
A created moment
We breathed the same air
And that is nearly a miracle
A modern one

Transcendent, or mirroring, critiquing, embracing,
Revealing, loving, hating
The world we can see
And the world we would like to
But cannot

Yes, it is the brave
And the beautiful and the crumbled
Who grapple with the word
Who grapple with themselves
And demon gods

Of the millions of people
That have ever lived
Across all the debris and detritus
Of this doomed human rampage
Together we danced.



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