All These Poems







All the poems, the notes, old
melodies silent for now;
every single line and inspiration,
muddled or divine, remain simply
words known and rearranged

Vowels conjugated and held
softly and often in my throat, my love;
each one a wonder and surprise,
each my call to you:
my song, my hallelujah of your name

©Dean J. Baker


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