I have this page-a-day calendar that's all about poetry. I do not like it as much as I thought I would for some reason. Maybe it's because too many pages are dedicated to mini biographies of poets and it was POETRY I wanted to read, not biographies. Up until this year, I've always bought page-a-day calendars with quotes on them, which I've loved to death. Anyway, this was the poem from yesterday (June 30). I love this one. I think I might make it my personal symphony.
Your life must be loved this much.
Standing by the water's edge, looking down at the wave,
touching you. You have to lie, stiff, arms folded,
on a heap of earth and see how far the darkness
will take you. I mean it, this, now--before the ghost
the cold leaves in your breath, rises; before the toes
are put together inside the shoes. There it is--the god damn
orange-going-into-rose descending circle of beauty & time.
You have nothing to be sad about.
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