I've posted every other line of a poem in progress. Fill in the blanks.
You have been so much more than an image to me
cleanly engraved on a tombstone,
with all the contours and pockmarks
and in shadow. You tried to be so
a buliding sitting on the cusp of the horizon.
Yet I caught you and held you and grasped you,
you faced. I have cupped your days in my palms
I have understood the terror of the grace
Labels: Fred
2/25/2008 11:55:00 AM