Tomorrow I'll see my wife for the first time in 10 days. Does it show?
Once
"Philosophy," she said, "is long past dead."
I nodded. "But remember why we're here—"
"Is that a joke?" She almost smiled; the bed
Groaned as she sat and pulled off her brassiere.
"There are no secrets left." "Then tell me one,"
I whispered. "Now I know you're joking. Stop."
"Stop this?" "Just let me go until we're done."
She closed my lips with hers, then climbed on top
Of me and on to me. "No mystery
But this," her breathing quickened, "nothing lost
But this, no gods but this, no artistry
But this, no gift except this pentecost—"
When she had dressed and gone the rented room
Grew infinite. She didn't wear resolving her perfume.
In other news, the Chatelaine had her own encounter with an angel, Chris Murray interviews one of my prosodic heroes, Annie Finch, and I got a bunch of hits today after some very kind words at The Versed Baseball Blog on the Web
Update:
Chris Lott is back! And I like this poem from Shanna Compton. Tomorrow I'm on the road—see you Friday!
Another Update 1/15/04:
I think that new last line above is closer to what I originally meant, despite appearing to be a contradiction. Very well, I contradict myself.
7:16:00 PM 
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