1. 28 Aug



    To Dorothy by Marvin Bell

    You are not beautiful, exactly.
    You are beautiful, inexactly.
    You let a weed grow by the mulberry
    And a mulberry grow by the house.
    So close, in the personal quiet
    Of a windy night, it brushes the wall
    And sweeps away the day till we sleep.

    A child said it, and it seemed true:
    “Things that are lost are all equal.”
    But it isn’t true. If I lost you,
    The air wouldn’t move, nor the tree grow.
    Someone would pull the weed, my flower.
    The quiet wouldn’t be yours. If I lost you,
    I’d have to ask the grass to let me sleep.

     
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