Excerpts > Spring 2004

Terry Wolverton

Paradox


Paradox

In the midst of singing is silence,
small gaps of breath. The billowed lung soon
empties of its air. Every thing
contains its opposite: Love changes
its blouse to emerge as loathing; good
fortune shrivels to despair. That star
we yearn toward is the radiance
we fear. Haunted by what weíve escaped,
we cling to overstuffed suitcases
that open to reveal the void
we carry everywhere. Shadow
canít survive without the sunís bright beam,
and death holds life in its coat pocket,
fingers stroke it like a lucky charm.

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