Altar – George Eklund
One makes little altars repeatedly
I drop my weight into a chair
At the desk
Amazed by the violins and their particles
And the quiet color of my clothes
Every picture that comes to me
Is a derangement
Place from place
A pellucid cry across the barren easter
The pointless stroll through the city
The wheels of grief complete
And our hands follow our eyes
Skimming upon the circles of the altars.
Wanted to share a favorite of mine. What are your thoughts and reactions to this piece?
This made me think of a person who is grieving about those who have passed in their home city, and that walking around their city sends memories of those passed individuals. These memories being referred to as altars, or in other words landmarks. I'm sure we've had this discussion at least twice before, but definitely suits your appetite for darker poetry Matt! Helps that Eklund is one of your favorites.