Printer Friendly

Ultimate nightingale.

My ultimate nightingale--vivid, doubtful, whistling in a whisper. The past zings by me like an automobilist making up lost time.

A quart of water--not such a grand thing, not so clear as it once was, still clear enough to let the light pass.

Electricity--even in a cafe alone I can feel it, the blood of the city coursing after the power goes out.

This is the tango--I put one foot here and lead you where you'd planned to go. The tango is beautiful and vile.

The earth has sealed itself from us--mouth sealed, eyes sealed, anus, fingertips, ears, heart, all sealed, from us.

A blue vase--pale as some skies, or the egg of a bird, or a lover's touch from across a wide bed and then together.

There are mysteries in the world-thoughts and moments, salmon, rivers, rain, the leisure that surrounds us day after day.
COPYRIGHT 1993 World Poetry, Inc.
No portion of this article can be reproduced without the express written permission from the copyright holder.
Copyright 1993 Gale, Cengage Learning. All rights reserved.

Article Details
Printer friendly Cite/link Email Feedback
Author:Romtvedt, David
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Date:Mar 1, 1993
Previous Article:Wyoming I do not own.
Next Article:La Guardia, the story.

Terms of use | Copyright © 2017 Farlex, Inc. | Feedback | For webmasters