Poor Ducks

I should have been posting a poem every day during April, you know. And not necessarily my own, because it’s Poetry Month. But as the Bokononists say, busy busy busy.

Here’s one for today, anyway, and it’s a good one. Three Moves by John Logan.

Then again they sway home to dream bright gardens of fish in the early night.

When people ask us where we get the inspiration to let language run free, it’s from reading lines like that by guys like Logan.

This poem has been paddling and honking around in the back of my mind for 25 or 30 years. It’s confessional – almost literally – and transcendent at once; visual and metaphysical and 20th century fearless.

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