Poetry is innocent, not wise. It does not learn from experience, because each poetic experience is unique.
Leo Connellan has retained his soul and voice in Provincetown and Other Poems.
Already old, the question Who shall die? Becomes unspoken Who is innocent?
The body, what is it, Father, but a sign To love the force that grows us, to give back What in Thy palm is senselessness and mud?
My soul is now her day, my day her night, So I lie down, and so I rise.
Poetry is not a way of saying things; it's a way of seeing things.