Barely Contained

Sometimes before
falling asleep a person
senses the give
behind the last given,

almost physically,
like the push
of plush against
skin.

The person imagines
a fig or peach,
perhaps a woman or
a deep constellation:
some fathomless fruit.

And that fathomless
sleep fruit is what we,
while we live, are:
almost without surface,
barely contained,
as crazy as clouds
compounding each
other,
refusing to rain.

8 Responses to “Barely Contained”

  1. Kyle Sundgren Says:

    There’s no such thing as an unnamed feeling in your poetic world. If there is, you just haven’t written about it yet.

    • sethdellinger Says:

      I must admit, this comment confuses me, Kyle. I don’t say anything about an unnamed feeling in the poem….? (but if you’re just making a general statement about the thoroughness of my poetics, thanks!)

  2. This one is truly extraordinary. Puts things into words I never knew needed said.

  3. I’m not sure I get this. I’m also not sure I’ve ever said that to you before.

    • sethdellinger Says:

      This makes me sad. :( One never wants a poem to fail for the Muse! Alas, I still like it very much. I don’t know if I can really “explain” it, per se…it’s sort of a “feeling” poem, if that makes any sense. At any rate, Kiwi, I appreciate your honesty!

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