That Other Real

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[I took the shot, good word, in a nearby forest the other day. The poem is about five years old.]

That Other Real

The secret
which got lost neither hides
nor reveals itself, it shows forth
tokens.
– Charles Olson, ‘Variations Done for Gerald Van De Wiele’

a glass of milk trembles,
slides from a sunlit table
in a mossed up cabin under trees,

shatters into a diamond pool
of ghostlike tears slithering
over a wooden floor

under the green door deep
into the silence of birch, oak,
eucalypt, that first apple

whence we fell upwards
into death, time, dark
memory of all that other real

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~ by Peter Lach-Newinsky on December 22, 2013.

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