Tryst Poetry by Joseph Carcel 


To love is to act
old soliloquies are new, soft

touch of hand on cheek
is not a stage

direction, rush of thigh
upon thigh not
friction of tried tools

but discovery
that we are more
than bone and chitterling,
more than echo's ear.

Yet was Plato wiser than Hume?
Parched eye, dried touch
seek memory
of moisture,
mime of waterfall.

2002 Joseph Carcel

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