Friday, December 15, 2006

Brad Leithauser

At an Island Farm


If only the light might last,
the mild sea-breeze hold steady,
I think perhaps I could soon be ready
to relinquish a past

that let go of me as surely
as some stern wind last year
may have seized a wheat stem by the ear
and shaken it, purely

without a thought for
whether the seeds were drowned
or whether, aloft, some few of them found
another shore.

(from May 1998 POETRY)

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