This poem is taken from Stand 218, 16(2) May - June 2018.

Tom Crowther Poem
The Conversation

They tell in hushed tones, stories of wish-bones
About the hammering of the sea,
The hammer of its weight, were one
To be argued into the undertow.
What do you think? Why do you hesitate?
Where does the blood come from, that you’re tasting,
A note in someone’s tone of voice you caught?
But that’s it. It’s the conversation,
While the waters smash away every forest
Never the redemption there where the waters shoot
Certain the language to remind you of the curious horror.

Wake up! Wake up young world. There’s such a beauty
In these signs of friendship, if you’d just catch them early.

And so tears beneath rose from beneath the diaphragm
And one bird sang beneath the window
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