Chance: The Last Six From a Tarot

This entry is part 13 of 13 in the series Chance: A Poetic Tarot



Let me be quick
to rise when the world
is slow, when the bird
tarries in the guava tree.


The women used to sit one
behind each other on the steps:
talking, cleaning lice
from their hair.


In town after town tonight,
streets are heavy with grief,
lined with bodies
of the drowned.


The moon says, I am not
a gypsy with a crystal
ball. I am not the cold
coal burning in the grate.


I shine my light
through every


Only a fool would save
the drink umbrella.
Only a fool would dance
at the brink of the world.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← Chance: Six More From a Tarot

3 Replies to “Chance: The Last Six From a Tarot”

  1. Thank you so much. It felt almost as if the poems in this series led me into their writing, if that makes any sense at all … _/\_

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