We are inside a bloodstream.
We let it nurture us
as if the only shelter were
breathless and cramped.
Tea grows cold waiting
for us, the sofa quiet.
We cannot avoid
our possessions forever.
Dented, imperfect
in the shock of light, we
return to each other. We are born
with the knowledge
of letting go.
Bryn Canner is a graduate student in English at Princeton University.
More poetry (for a full list, please visit the archive:
Treasure
Ron Mohring
January, 2003
December, 2002
November, 2002
October, 2002
September, 2002
August, 2002
April, 2002
February, 2002
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Only Shelter
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