‘No clock: only the Heart's blood. Only the word.'
'I think poetry must,
I think it must,
Stay open all night
In beautiful cellars' Thomas Merton, A Book of Hours
High round windows
over wide glass doors
fill with night;
The world's gone to black,
Can you hear your whispering blood?
- surge of surf, wind in dark trees
alive - alive -
so arise now and go
down the noisy steps
to the beautiful cellar,
to the poetry.
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Comments about this poem (Beautiful Cellars by Steven Federle )
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