[previous] [next] [more by this author] [home]
 
The New Poem
Charles Wright

It will not resemble the sea.
It will not have dirt on its thick hands
It will not be part of the weather.

It will not reveal its name.
It will not have dreams you can count on.
It will not be photogenic.

It will not attend our sorrow.
It will not console our children.
It will not be able to help us.

 
[previous] [next] [more by this author] [home]