by Wick Fields
If I could reach back in time
And grab my own arm
Say, at the age of 23 or so
I'd do it
I'd seize it and I'd whisper in my own ear
Something like "Don't be so frightened.
The tide rolls back , be cool."
Then I'd look myself in the eye
And wait for one of us to blink.
Two ragged kings, haunted by the other.
Oh the flames Whipping wild at city gates In Rome and Beijing and Cleveland Frightening the old Half cold in their graves And surrounding the young Half hung by their age. Oh the flames Lapping low at
by Wick Fields Every night I'm revived From the day's incursions By the language of the dead Because I'll tell you this No army can march Over Raymond Carver's mercy.
by Wick Fields There isn't enough time To express the wholeness of things There is only time To survive the blast.