Friday Poem: "When the Poem Was Done"

When the Poem Was Done

When the poem was done
Again old sorrows spun
The painful course rerun
As antidote to dying

And drained silence won
The welcome apathy
Of greying light
And day retired sighing

A warm particularity
Mulled over him
As if the dim objects
Dozing in his room

Were pooled in light
Shimmered where they stood
And tempted him to yield
And love the world

But then he heard
The beat of wings
An airy timber
From some graceful thing

And glancing out
Saw not some bird
But waves of memories
Upon a sea of words

And at his back
The room was black
And in this night
He turned to write

1/7-3/1/97, 1/31/98, 5/12/98, 3/20/02

Copyright 1997, 2002 by Maurice Leiter

Posted with permission.