After all, but still



To arrive by quiet finally

at the doorway into dark

nothing, force

that renovates the now,

puts daily plans

to eternity’s test

so that just these three remain:

To love, the heart cracked, spilling now its unstoppable fire.

To die, the body at rest while the hawk rises.

To live, the hand pulls silken seeds from a pod,

lifts them to wind,

lets go.

Dark Milkweed for Post Illustration


This poem was published in Freshwater 2014, I am proud to report.

Leave a Comment

January 15, 2014, 10:13 pm Rose Petronella

So BEAUTIFUL, Carolyn!  Thank you.

Love, Rose


August 16, 2014, 12:05 am Laura MacKay

That is wonderful. Thank you.

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