After I had cut off my hands
and grown new ones

something my former hands had longed for
came and asked to be rocked.

After my plucked out eyes
had withered, and new ones grown

something my former eyes had wept for
came asking to be pitied.

Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 878 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Denise Levertov
Poem: Intrusion
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