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Touch Me by Stanley Kunitz

May 21, 2008

Touch Me

Summer is late, my heart.
Words plucked out of the air
some forty years ago
when I was wild with love
and torn almost in two
scatter like leaves this night
of whistling wind and rain.
It is my heart that’s late,
it is my song that’s flown.
Outdoors all afternoon
under a gunmetal sky
staking my garden down,
I kneeled to the crickets trilling
underfoot as if about
to burst from their crusty shells;
and like a child again
marveled to hear so clear
and brave a music pour
from such a small machine.
What makes the engine go?
Desire, desire, desire.
The longing for the dance
stirs in the buried life.
One season only,
and it’s done.
So let the battered old willow
thrash against the windowpanes
and the house timbers creak.
Darling, do remember
the man you married? Touch me,
remind me who I am.

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2 comments

  1. Cool poem Pauly, Hope thinks are going good over there ! I have access to a computer, But they charge me a arm and a leg to make a phone call ! Email me back when you get this message, Tell vic I’m doing good over here! Love you guys. I’m going to forward this to your email Account

    Email Me Here / Gilbertc555@yahoo.com


  2. Kinda scarey..feels like I`m living this…



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