You speak in code that no heart breaks.
How are you this sunny, windy day?


I know the day is fine, but you:
I cannot tell, you know.
Your Fine is impenetrable.

I can suspect that on your island
you feel wind cutting into tearducts.

What is this Fine, this wall of code
no intuition breaks?

I know I could suspect the worst:
torture it out of you
with more pain than you inflict on yourself.

Would your confession
extracted on the rack in this fine dungeon
you have sentenced yourself to
tell more than your iron mask hides?

I want to shake you out of your smeltered Fine:
give you some way to spring off that
waterboard that is your daily routine,
see you breathe two successive breaths
of sunny, windy oxygen.

But you are Fine you say.

There is flint in the essential silence
that puddles around your Fine—
some day that oil will ignite:
Fine will be Fire
but I will be on a different island.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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2 Responses to Fine

  1. anthony dinu says:

    good work …modern and refreshing not in the pseudo intellectual abstract sense of word modern which passes for poetry today without rhyme meter or structure. I would love to read more

    • riverwriter says:

      Thanks for your comment, Anthony. The is a good deal more posted here for you to read. I am working on another which will soon appear. The poems are searchable, and you can make your own list of favourites to return to. (You do not have to register to do that. Just check the item explaining the process.)

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