But with exquisite breathing you smile, with satisfaction of love, And I touch you again as you tick in the silence and settle in sleep.
My soul is now her day, my day her night, So I lie down, and so I rise.
Keelhaul the poets in the vestry chairs.
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.
The good poet sticks to his real loves, to see within the realm of possibility. He never tries to hold hands with God or the human race.