The real is not what happens but what is About to happen, Whatever you were dying for before. Knowing is just feeling With a sense of direction, and Thinking tags after like a string of tin cans Annoying everyone. Something was about to happen. Really. My mother said I'd never make it back In time by the way she looked at me forever. She wasn't thinking. I pledge allegiance to her eyes, Don't envy me. When you reach the North Pole the idea of north Becomes unrealized, free. Which north was true? Which south was home? What is it you are dying for? Only the stars, which do not know, can tell, Only the stars, which do not know, can tell. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW; IN MEMORIAM by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON IN A COPY OF OMAR KHAYYAM by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL A WINTER WISH by ROBERT HINCKLEY MESSINGER IN PROGRESS by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI AT BETHLEHEM: 1. THE CHILD by JOHN BANISTER TABB IDYLLS OF THE KING: GARETH AND LYNETTE by ALFRED TENNYSON |