Dead Stone

Poem By Hugh Joseph Curran

DEAD STONE

There is no sound like a dead
stone falling into
a dead well, falling into a season
of pollen floating where pilgrims dip
up muddled remedies:
plasters for boils
and open sores, holy water
for curing insanity;
new life in springs percolating
up through a whirlpool of dead matter,
such is the secret life of believers

Comments about Dead Stone

secret life of believers - a wonderful write! i can't wait to read more. - EN


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