Summer 1969 • Vol. XXXI No. 3 Poetry |

To a Friend Who Has Just Returned

Where were you, the last five years, Burrowing into life, with rumors of ships And voyages, the fog-deflected horns on seas I could only wade in, on deserted beaches— Where were you, in cities arching past Horizons, through unfamiliar hemispheres, Bazaars and spices, the silence of fjords— The naked parapets a passport buys— While I, riveted to schedules, faced The faces I could not hope would recognize My love, that lapsed into forgetfulness With each cold bell, and all I owned were books. What was it you sought, and why do you sit now Shivering on the parapet, awaiting My cold touch, lured into The crucible, these consuming poems?

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By Larry Rubin

Where were you, the last five years, Burrowing into life, with rumors of ships And voyages, the fog-deflected horns on seas I could only wade in, on deserted beaches— Where […]

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