The Guilt of the Poem

You have no right to utter the deepness of those maid-air overturned bowls cherry-pink along the river -- not even for a moment's praise. You have no claim, not even the most spider-wiry, on the May blooming. It's beyond the loud trespass of outspoken homage. Don't remark -- least of all -- the fringed shadow oozing from morning boles: evaporating at noon, re-seeping just after. All this mystery larger than mouth can purse. You see? You're looking down to write! You're stealing time from the tree. Try only watching. Try speechlessness.

About these ads
Sponsored Content by LockerDome

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...

Loading...

Save for later

Save
Cancel

Saved ( of items)

This item has been saved to read later from any device.
Access saved items through your user name at the top of the page.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You reached the limit of 20 saved items.
Please visit following link to manage you saved items.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You have already saved this item.

View Saved Items

OK