Eric Rawson
Eric Rawson
Until Today


On the other hand I have forgotten—
              Maybe I never knew—how a carrot
Tastes when you dig it up and take a bite
              Without washing off the beard of black dirt
                      Still the sky has never shattered into
A thousand golden pieces the horse has
              Never waded through the knee-deep orchard

 

What to Do


When a woman sighs in her sleep
              She is dreaming of dreaming of—
At least this is what I have heard
And when she smiles upon waking
               And stretches like a tree—you know
                      The kind—she is escaping from
Your thoughts and when you blink you end
              Up in a pattern like a slip-
                      Stream and when you yourself awake
In a knot of analogies
You might as well take your chalk and
              Draw figures on the bedroom door
At least this is what someone said





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