Maps. Maps. Maps. Venezuela, Keewanaw, Iceland open up unfolding and when I get to them they'll look like maps. New pilgrims everywhere won't visit tombs, need living monuments to live again. But there are only tombs to visit. They left her in the rain tied to the water with cobwebs, stars stuck like burrs to her hair. I found her by her wailing. It's obvious I'll never go to Petersburg and Akhmadulina has married another in scorn of my worship of her picture. You're not fooling yourself -- if you weren't a coward you'd be another target in Chicago, tremulous bull's-eye for hog fever. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FIRST OR LAST (SONG) by THOMAS HARDY MACDONALD'S RAID - A.D. 1780 by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE EXHORTATION TO PRAYER by MARGARET MERCER LOVE IN THE VALLEY (VERSION A) by GEORGE MEREDITH SONNET: 65 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE MINSTREL OF THE SUN by FREDERICK HENRY HERBERT ADLER FRAGMENTS OF A POEM ON THE EXCELLENCE OF CHRISTIANITY by JAMES HAY BEATTIE |