This entry is part 9 of 73 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2011-12


In the half-dark: branches and twigs, statues,
cobbled walks stenciled with snow— Always,
the way half-known, half-erased. Purpose,
the key simply waiting its turn in the lock.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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4 Replies to “Animus”


    That night will come, fully felt, indelible,
    there will be no key to turn on the door:
    it was always with me in my breastpocket
    where it is easy enough to feel, the throbs
    underneath it urging me to take the path
    home where you said my stenciled footsteps
    can still be traced even with the early snow
    on the cobble stones. I shall retrace them.

    —Albert B. Casuga

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