PoetryApril 2024

Camille Roy


Poem



I know a Buddhist

says

death

is a trick.

The dead

are around the corner.

Not gone

just almost here.

Listen.

Their radiant

bodies

hiss steam.




The breath

of the dead.

Is it their song?

Or just

expelled air,

the hissing,

Listen, he says.

Again.

It’s

their way

of urging us,

Dive

into the teeming present

into that welt

belt.





I say

No to the

No

presence other than

a poem

one in which a dapper

tomorrow shines.

Because what is not here

shines.

Because I’d rather go on

in my mistake

dragging my griefs

through the dark museum.






Camille Roy 1/16/2024








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