Novel in Progress

Dan Beachy-Quick
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It’s not not knowing           how the end ends
That turns the page          it’s how you want someone
To join you, the doves     sun-dazzled in streets
Act like lonely stones     just some of the many objects
To whom you proposed     an arrangement of suppose
What’s next, as some of us     haven’t already guessed
The eventual fiction     of saying I wears thin
The hand that shakes     the rings to ringing
It wears those rings     that hand, lightning strikes
An empty field, Pluto     is a thought gone far 
Beyond the typical clouds     just abstract enough
To think those stones     could learn to fly
Given time, given mind       there must be a way
To love a child and not     tell her the sun says all right
Pathos of the grapeseed     becomes delirium of wine
A word delights the blank    and other white lies

This poem is supported in part by the National Endowment for the Arts.

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