Poetry and Poetics
My traveling clothes light up the noon.
I’ve been on my way for a long time
back to the
That irreconcilable city.
Everyone wants to join me, it seems, and I let them.
Roadside flowers drive me to distraction,
Hover like lapus lazuli, there, just out of reach.
Narrow road, wide road, all of us on it, unhappy,
Unsettled, seven yards short of immortality
And a yard short of not long to live.
Better to sit down in the tall grass
and watch the clouds,
To lift our faces up to the sky,
Considering—for most of us—our lives have been a constant mistake.
© by Charles Wright
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