Poems come to me in the dark
when my eyes are healed
when I do not distinguish
my body from the air.
In a dream the poems come.

When I awake the words fall
from my skin and I forget
the misty-eyed soliloquies
I’d composed like Keats
though I remember him.

I always remember John Keats
who led me through the forest
to the Emerald inside the rock
our true love carved in stone.
Holding his hand I traipsed in the wake
of his tousled amber hair.
he wrote odes among the trees for me.

When you believe in reincarnation
anything is possible.
Love can be written
centuries apart.

_________
(c) 2017

A winner of the 2017 Sue C. Boynton Poetry Contest

 

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