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Beer Drinking Poetry Poetry Poems
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    Selected Poem
Quite Beautiful
She wanted this,
so here it is that I have come to say,
"There is no later,"
as she draws lines in the sand-soaked earth,
center-cuts fenceposts, and does the digging.
It's back-breaking, soul-taking work.

But still on she labors.
These lines in the sand:
once crossed, no cross-backs;
uncrossed and missing the saved time
of daylight.

She really is quite lovely in pieces:
the piece that sweats,
the earth unfurrowed and unturned,
the quiet corner that loves.

Beautiful, quite beautiful,
her hair in fading light
so strong and thin
I can smell the feel.

Words fail
as the oranging sun fails,
and I do not know the way back
to dustier easings and refuge housing.
The lines in the earth:
there is none, and there are none.

"There is no 'later'," she says
and repositions comfortably
in her chair
and in her skin.

The posts have all been sunk,
hoping to be filled around.
The wire with its barbs
waits coiled.

The next day,
for all of that next day,
to be republic unfurled
in magenta-hued light
immediately after
the dawn.
Submitted: 4/6/2005 Printer Friendly
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