h.b.irwin

In Reading, October 2 (response to Steven’s “The Snow Man”)

In Uncategorized on January 31, 2010 at 9:39 pm

Wallace, Wallace–
put on your red scarf
from your birthday in the kitchen,

where there is a fire and a smallness.
All smallness and unaware
you trickle down the staircase

into (what you are
thinking, I wouldn’t
dare say)

tiny tiles lining the bathroom floor,
with yellow and thick and present tense—
you haven’t heard or seen a thing.

And you know it is warm
because there is no winter
because there is no largeness—

only the all things at once,
unrecorded
and let be.

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