blogpoems

Can you tell me some new word some heaven, haven a leavening that won't leave with each harvest or just as the Maple red buds emerge all fresh green? Thought so yet I know I heard it whispered in voiceless reveries bound up in that line separating this moment from that I thought real. Maybe Jerry is right I'm just not old enough to spool all these threads I've picked up starting way back in 1968 with that old Finnish man rewarding me for being a Salovaara, not a manchild not a person not even human ... was he a voiceless whisper a leaven that stayed through all the holy and the political wars dicing for the seamless possession guiding my refusal to touch their stain?