After Keats

We trace the shadows, like Keats, with chance’s hand,

Love both what’s missing and what’s at our feet;

Poised on our toes we, for a moment, stand,

Not rushing our brushstrokes, not in retreat;

Drawing mysteries but not on demand,

Our truncated poems find their own feet.

The dance is unfinished, not incomplete.


Nicholas Power


About Nicholas Power

The poetry of Nicholas Power and his reviews of singular poems in a sequence titled Cadence.
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