“Slow Song* For A ‘Lost’ Friend”

(March 24, 2019)

the pain at a beth

comes from any direction

remembering is cruel

*(Comes right past the first poem of the day triggered by recalling the name of a healing pool just outside Jerusalem’s walls and later taken for the name of my natal first home in Maryland. Cruelty comes bearing lies going both ways in a field of dreams unshared and perhaps unsharable. Drink and drug do not abate memory’s sharp stabs; neither does sobriety. You learn to let in the pain, measure it, treasure it, let it flow into, through and past you and then, move on. If you can.)

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