This week when I was sick as a dog, I wrote a poem about\u2026being sick as a dog. \u00a0Call it my healing arts. \u00a0By the time the poem was done with me and releasing me from its grip, the cold was also moving on. \u00a0 What remains is the poem.<\/p>\n
Ode to a Cold<\/strong><\/p>\n Cold of the ancients! My head Streams of the healthy rush When I talk, no one hears, Steaming water: a bath to I bow, bow to clouds, This week when I was sick as a dog, I wrote a poem about\u2026being sick as a dog. \u00a0Call it my healing arts. \u00a0By the time the poem was done with me and releasing me from its grip, the cold … Continue reading
\nIs a stone. O sun, the fog is lifting.
\nBring me some lightness and
\nPatience.<\/p>\n
\nTo jobs in cities. \u00a0My labor is breathing
\nAnd easing the drip. \u00a0Curtains
\nOf it slip.<\/p>\n
\nAnd when they talk, I can’t hear.
\nOpacity! Tea,
\nMore tea.<\/p>\n
\nBreathe into. \u00a0Muscles give way
\nTo grapefuit and citrus
\nAnd eucalyptus.<\/p>\n
\nTo shreds of cirrus as naturally
\nMy viscosity gives way
\nTo bliss.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"