Thursday, November 10, 2011

a love poem

                    a special delivery
It’s time for a love poem
that works.
Not one that waits like a resting saw
or a card unsent.
It’s time to scuff love’s 
new shoes, to rough up that patina, to bruise
its bark, then make mends.
This poem can do that, can pucker its lines
in anticipation, 
slip into a back pocket
like a paper hand.
This poem can’t be stopped; the mark it makes
cures longing as sunrise
that dark night when questions came
whether this poem
would ever ever 
be written.
           B. Koplen 11/10/11

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