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Poem for Early Morning, Not an Aubade


Wonderfully established, the sun across my plate,
the white plate of morning strewn with stars
I had forbidden to go home last night,

and wonderfully next their act, the sun and stars,
wonderfully together how they mate
the way the plate has waited for, turning its pears,

its peaches to this moment, longing, longing,
the moon, a sure essential instrument,
singing along as an accompaniment;

yet coming to this instant in my life again
I'm starving for this moment to be mine,
possible even, since always, I'm outside

transcribing the sky as it disarms the earth,
celestial fractures, dismemberments,
everywhere heaven, lightning in my handsó


Peter Cooley

Bennington Review

Summer 2017


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