The Poet Community

The Wild Winters of Imperfect Grace | A Poem by James Diaz

No shouting
please
I toss the roots
into the pit
of winter

watching
how slowly our hands
tangle
in sheets and dreams
of migration

this little pill
in the center of the eye

listen:
there are intruders
everywhere
when you live outside

skin and bone
and memory of struggle
kicked – shouting
I can take it,
what else you got?

But there is no one around
3 a.m.
a cold park bench
and a prayer
just about to die out on your lips

I could have been a pretender,
I could have loved you
in a way that you would have found hard to believe,
imperfectly potent,
singular, single-handedly.

Unafraid.



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