Poetry Thursday


We ate from the dish of eyes
and as eyes met, making out
light by darkness, we hungered:
the dish is a questioning of the dish

We drank from the cup of hands
and as hands met, reaching down
for what was up, we thirsted:
the cup is a questioning of the cup.

We slept in the bed of flesh
and as flesh met, melting back
to the lost action, we kept
forgiving, and for good: no questions asked.

-Richard Howard

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