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The fist that held your heart
releases, the hot knife
of your shame turns to water,
the kernels of blackened corn
by which you counted
your imagined crimes,
are carried away by crows.
We’ve sat around the fire three days,
thrown in tobacco
and wished you well.
Whatever power there may be
forgave you long ago,
and so did all the earthly others.
You left us the best of you.
It lifts us up
and carries us high above
the mingling rivers.
Come back to us in the rain.
Come back to us
in this wind that moves the tree just now.
—
copyright 2015 Doug Anderson
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Douglas, I still have the early books and remember fondly sitting on the back porch talking and swapping songs in ? 1970 something. The conversation still rings on.
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I don’t know how you manage to keep creating such powerful well-wrought poems. This one is magical.
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Doug,Perfect.
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