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Wave Before Leaving, Wave

And then, the clawed feet of something

akin to speech crawling across the half-moon

of my lip. I, red-beetled and buzzed, come

crawling into bed tonight looking for the last

light of this evening’s rage in your hair. God,

how long the night trapped in the bottom

of a bottle thrown into a sewer or lodged

in a man’s dark hand? I am still holding the bird

I wrestled from the streetlamp of your anger.

It is pecking at my palm. I cover its mouth

and the avalanche in its throat when I come

into the house so as not to wake you.

The fountain, in the square, is still broken.

It leaks like a man. I’ve said this before: I come

as the children came before the closed door

of Noah’s ark: to plead for water. To beg you stay.

from King MeFind it in the library

Copyright © 2013 Roger Reeves
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.

Published in Poems Roger Reeves

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