Keep a Poem Alive
This is not my poem
to breathe life into;
I poked into that which
I should not--like a bottom
dresser drawer, w/ yellow
paper clippings, plastic-wrapped,
by accident, too many boys--
too small a boat, too heavy
a motor, a lone survivor swimming
ashore like my brother blessing
the Mississippi River inside
souls of their poems--one mother
who strokes the head of a body
of a poem--& a drawer & plastic
keep a poem alive. I want to climb
a river bluff to read the words
out loud into space, a depth
flowing to the mouth of the living.
Moss Trill 