Monday, January 23, 2012

A.E. Loveridge

After Rexroth

A lowly bureaucrat, which she is, toiling

for a government clogged by procedure

and process, which she is, living in a city, which she does,

in a small house full of ghosts, which she does,

by a river, which does flow nearby,

and waiting, like she does, for one who loves another,

which she is, who will send a message, which he won't,

or perhaps for the wind to carry one perfect blossom

into her lap while she waits by the river

for the one who will not send for her,

Which it does.

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