Sunday, February 16, 2020

Robert Beveridge writes

for Laura Aquilino

You smiled today, touched
my hand in greeting. I could no longer see
the fires along the river at night
yet again they sprang forth
those talismans
against the flood that threatens
to overcome us.
What great beast is this? One more
sweaty night, no end to this heat
can't sleep so I think of you
wait for something, nothing
you'll know it when you find it.
Hadn't seen you for two days
after I read you my last poems.
Are you in bed with the verse
I opened to you? Do you wonder
if I write you another? I do.

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