Beam Poem by Jody Gladding
Beam
How is it I'm becoming particle
solid tool with a few odd uses
even as I'm honed to nothing
more than gesture—wave
or stride, shrug, stutter?
Resolute contradiction, I'm worn
so smooth by now I should be able
to explain everything. So what
is it that escapes me, that
on good days, lifted and filled me?
Because that's what I
would have called light.
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4/29/2024 3:54:32 PM # 1.0.0.1119
