And So the Skin . . .

By Peter Cole b. 1957 Peter Cole
And so their pounded hearts
were worn—
                                       like a badge
                  or talisman,
that canceled   
almost all their blindness—

creation's linkage depending
                                    on a drive itself
         derived from a kind of kindness
or desperation, the sense that one's
                                    at any rate

the space for time—

water has it, flowing   
(even from a faucet . . .)
and here the black swan glides across it—

as the sunlight's suddenly on my back,
and now the skin along it's warmer,
                  which lets me walk by the river . . .

Source: Poetry (June 2008).


This poem originally appeared in the June 2008 issue of Poetry magazine

June 2008
 Peter  Cole


Poet and translator Peter Cole was born in Paterson, New Jersey. His collections of poetry include Hymns & Qualms (1998), Rift (1989), What Is Doubled: Poems 1981-1998 (2005), and Things on Which I’ve Stumbled (2008). With Adina Hoffman, he wrote the nonfiction collection Sacred Trash: The Lost and Found World of the Cairo Geniza (2011). Described by Harold Bloom as a “major poet-translator,” Cole has translated important . . .

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