Two Poems
Barry Ballard
[Total Pages: 2]
Ballard Page 1

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Leaving What the Light Filled

". . . alack the heavy day, that I have worn so many winters out, and know not now what name to call myself."
- Shakespeare, Richard II

Maybe that's me sitting on the bench, head dropped between the knees . . . exhausted. And
the role of a stranger, my eyes engraving
the earth between my dusted feet with the lead
tip of a heavy mind. Not a scattered
journey's end, but winters to know what being

human is about, enough of fleeing
the mind's shelter and then being gathered

back to reclaim it. And maybe that's
you sitting next to me, arm draped over
my shoulders with the audience listening
(just like me), whispering, "We all live with bread,
feel want, taste grief, and need friends." And
     then I
leave what the light filled, for a few steps up the

Helicopter Seed

I expect I'll leave something in the tumble
and roll of the meandering river,