The poem below is a lyric, defined as utterance knowingly addressed to another but expressive of the person whose voice it is understood to be, commonly known as the first person.<\/i><\/p>\n
I sometimes try to imagine how I would think about things in the here-and-now were I twenty or so. Sometimes I even narrow this search down to the pedantic topic of poetry.\u00a0 One positive thing social media has brought into our lives is the concept of texting, which is what poetry boils down to.\u00a0 Indeed, much lyric poetry amounts to sublimated forms of sexting.\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n
Amazing, isn\u2019t it, that the complex feelings I once had can survive time and take on a new form in a different place, becoming a matter of public record? Ah! but the nature of lyric itself is that one token of love, one of its prime subjects as well, is not caring how public what one says becomes.\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n
This particular poem talks both to one old one which could have borne the same title (“Edge<\/a>“), and to the last stanza of a new one set nowhere near the above coordinates (“The Giraffes at San Gorgonio<\/a>“).<\/i><\/p>\n ***<\/i><\/p>\n Earth for others, home is scaffolding See: the world is round. The arcs are mapped This will be our one last look at weather: Gusts will speak like we once spoke The poem below is a lyric, defined as utterance knowingly addressed to another but expressive of the person whose voice it is understood to be, commonly known as the first person. I sometimes try to imagine how I would think about things in the here-and-now were I twenty or so. Sometimes I even narrow this … <\/p>\n
\nfor you, will be till you stop thinking
\nwinters and summers through windows.<\/p>\n
\nthat shadows mark on vacant yards below.
\nYour room, now ours, has walls of light.<\/p>\n
\nfrom the west a range of clouds in storm
\nwill raise welts across the purple prairie.<\/p>\n
\nwith one another. Rain will finally fall
\nin shimmering sheets\u00a0like medicine.<\/p>\n