[Simon Hunt]

Kidney Disease (Dickinsonesque)

I shuffle now. The crisis past–
to savor emptiness,
then gorge myself on endless fast,
find more concealed in less–

When ease no longer radiates
and light no longer shines–
I’ll eat the final withered grapes
and call them finest wines.


(I hope I'm within the protocols of the D&A Board. I've been reading the discussion of Emily D. under Paula's recent poem on met and thought I would post here this little effort at homage. Has anybody else given it a try?)