Perfect Poetry

My friend MBC discovered this poem and shared it on her blog. It's beautiful, and I can very much relate to it. I love finding poems like this. I'm an on-again, off-again poetry person--both in writing it and in reading/understanding/connecting it. And this may very well have turned the switch on for the time being. How could it not? The last stanza is absolutely perfect.

The Letter

by Amy Lowell

Little cramped words scrawling all over
the paper
Like draggled fly's legs,
What can you tell of the flaring moon
Through the oak leaves?
Or of my uncertain window and the
bare floor

Spattered with moonlight?
Your silly quirks and twists have nothing
in them
Of blossoming hawthorns,
And this paper is dull, crisp, smooth,
virgin of loveliness
Beneath my hand.

I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart
against
The want of you;
Of squeezing it into little inkdrops,
And posting it.
And I scald alone, here, under the fire
Of the great moon.