From moria poetry

SINGING IN CHORUS

This is departing from original intent—
at home, a towel warms slowly on the rack.

I want to say: can't study the human hand,
can't touch, can't feel. Can't hear the distorted
raging of each self for human love. Can't.
Give me your hand, press mine.

There is no end to living, nor the sudden
breaking like waves on the distant fortress. . .
I'm gonna put on that starry crown—

down by the riverside
down by the riverside
down by the riverside

I go to meet the windows in the chorus room, unfolding—
the motive clock of selves.

© Simon Dedeo 2007