poem index

poet

Paul Otremba

by this poet

poem

I don't think they'll find the new weaving
anywhere finer than truth.
—Osip Mandelstam


I've tried to sift a truth finer than salt
from my mouth. It matters: I get up

or I do not. The books can wait, leaves
burn themselves these days, and the day

begins or it does not. Now wingless,
a wasp