Thursday, September 10, 2009


By Stephen Dunn

A wish for something moral like a wound
pitying the knife
its inability to be pleased or sad.
Or perhaps an afternoon one day a month
when everyone says why they’re ashamed.
Something to end the talk that passes
for talk. Something the lonesome ear,
the starved eye, can take in,
like nourishment from the world
in which, now and then, we’ve lived.

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