[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
. Click 
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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