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By Phillis Levin

That the dead are real to us
Cannot be denied,
That the living are more real


When they are dead
Terrifies, that the dead can rise
As the living do is possible


Is possible to surmise,
But all the stars cannot come near
All we meet in an eye.


Flee from me, fear, as soot
Flies in a breeze, do not burn
Or settle in my sight,


I’ve tasted you long enough,
Let me savor
Something otherwise.


Who wakes beside me now
Suits my soul, so I turn to words
Only to say he changes


Into his robe, rustles a page,
He raises the lid of the piano
To release what’s born in its cage.


If   words come back
To say they compromise
Or swear again they have died,


There’s no news in that, I reply,
But a music without notes
These notes comprise, still


As spring beneath us lies,
Already something otherwise.


Source: Poetry (July 2013)

  • Arts & Sciences
  • Living

Poet Bio

Phillis Levin
Phillis Levin was born and raised in Paterson, New Jersey, and educated at Sarah Lawrence College and The Johns Hopkins University.  She is currently a professor of English and the Poet-in-Residence at Hofstra University. See More By This Poet

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