Upon the Death of a Poet
by James Green,
            after Robert Frost and Mary Oliver

Upon the death of a poet,

who will notice
and what happens to poems unfinished,
lines left on the verge of language?

Will images waiting to rise into view
somehow appear to others?
What happens to silence?

When a poet dies, will we see again
what is familiar for the first time,
then speak the exact words?

And, after a poet dies,
will we still stop beside woods
on a snowy evening,

or wandering along the side
of the black river of loss
will we still stop, kneel, cup our hands

to drink and taste the fire?


 

Return to: