Crime and Poetry
The afternoon sun
now clears the trees
and comes through the window
to where you are with your book,
deciphering the clues to reveal
who committed the crime.
Imbedded in the surrounds
are the rituals that connect
us to life and to each other,
the daily observances
notched in time.
If it were not for these
affirmations of love,
we would be lost somewhere
within ourselves,
me in the endless passageways
of a poem without windows
and doors, you in the forensics
of a crime scene,
communicating with each other
through a bullet or punch hole
we've left in our dreams.
|