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Poetry by Edith Covensky
I was born in an instant
A very small piece of time
Flowing between the words
In a poem not yet written
And in a place which night had not reached.
And this is like a tale that entrances me
(in my term)
Sprinkling on me a little dust from the stars.
There is something childish in me
That leads me lightheaded through the days
Free to squander
And all that preserves me perhaps
Is the inability to die
In the fire dissolved in me
When I seal the poems.
I Embody the Poem
My splintered love yearns for the night
On small paper benches
My death no longer matters.
I embody the poem
Feel it not only in my head
But in my mouth too:
Words have such power.