There can be no restitution
without an initial theft, so steal
outrageous takings: air, sunlight,
more stars than you can count,
the eye of a smiling woman.
Then return everything,
barely tasted, merely tried,
set it all aside and run unburdened
to the next temptation waiting
to be named, waiting to be claimed.
About the author:
Michael C. Rush is made very uneasy by the influence of biography on poetry and prefers that the reader consider his poems alone, on their own merits, as words, without indulging in whatever small, idle curiosity about the specifics of his background and life that they may feel.
