A breathless Death is not so cold as a Death that breathes.” —Emily Dickinson

I’m no Dante, lost though I may be,
Nor you my Beatrice, just as lost to me.

Yet the passions ring, silent to your ear—
O brooding lyric, lead on! Lo these many years:

In warm ink we poets write
Excuses for the darkness of the night.

I dreamt your room where I once belonged,
Where we in solitude thronged,

Two confined, chained soul-to-soul:
In me you sought, and found, parole,

Though living, dying, always chains—mind
The key I held, fumbling, blind!

Will you let me in? I dare not ask.
Sobriety drinks that bitter flask.

Outside, in rain, in heat, in snow,
Life passes, tipsy, slow,

And in me rivers, laden, flow—
Carry dreams the tombs outgrow.

Image credit:JR Korpa

Andy Posner grew up in Los Angeles and earned an MA in Environmental Studies at Brown. While there, he founded Capital Good Fund, a nonprofit that provides financial services to low-income families. When not working, he enjoys reading, writing, watching documentaries, and ranting about the state of the world. He has had his poetry published in several journals, including Burningword Literary Journal (which nominated his poem ‘The Machinery of the State’ for the Pushcart Poetry Prize), Noble/Gas Quarterly, and The Esthetic Apostle.