[ode] by D.A. Powell
where have you gone blue middle of a decade? the gates creak. a sigh so vastly different
the diary is pure spine. in the most gingerly way each leaf opened reveals the less of you
83, 84, 85: your relics in a converse box. adoring letters from one upon whom you put the kibosh
shade trees bent to listen for a song. [erasure?] all of your best composing is lament
faithless time you steal the handsome petals for yourself. a bruised fist of hyacinth becomes you
when the wind bears no whisper but alack: an eye fears you & distance: the short distance across
To learn more about D.A. Powell, visit his page on the Poetry Foundation’s website by clicking here.
And for all the indoor kids, like Max, this is a picture of hyacinths.
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