Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Jude the obscure


By an open window in the dark with fall coming on,
it comes to you that buildings age from prose into poetry,
and little boys and girls from poetry into prose;
then, everything is quietly reversed;
poetry is sage and worth;
prose, a kiss at first;
errant thought,
a word.

By an open window in the light,
Jude is less obscure,
and you are
gone.

What better curse,
than the sacred verse of being
wrong?



2 comments:

Jonathan Chant said...

Very nice. Something about open windows at the moment.

Great poem, William.

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Jonathan. You’re right. There is. There is.