October 14, 2009

B181. Sandburg

sang his hearty slow

to sleep in upstairs ceiling

low above his head.

Woke he mid-morning, kinsmen

song, and one his voice, and fingers

strummed the thoughts, the work, the right

of me, of you, of them, of bleating hers

and he's. She comes along, to ride and see

his resting willery, placed so—still! Preserved

our day with his one voice, one heart of minds

reflected in the civic work of lateness, lateness, wakeful

sleep.

Posted by nancy at October 14, 2009 10:42 AM
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