Tom Crawford
It's a pleasure sometimes to notice my aging hands holding each other, so familiar, the fingers interlocked.
Evenings I allow myself two really good poems to read over and over, my warm milk and crackers I suppose.
Over my shoulder the radio turned low brings in the same old song every night: love me somebody, please!
My own loneliness when it's good I can tell you is so vast nothing will satisfy it but the late hour and a sky full of stars.
(from Wu Wei: Poems. Milkweed Editions, 2006.) Labels: poetry, tom crawford |
