Michael Klein



Poems By Michael Klein

The playwright

The massage

The twin


The massage

                                    for Peter Harris

When you went into the neck, a tunnel happened
and I was crawling back to Uncle Ted and his prayer
to the butterflies—killed, framed, his.

Collection: what you borrow, in the order you took it, from the                world.
The prayer I am hearing in your hand: lake, chimera, glow.

The prayer I am telling you: I feel the world as love
            without the object.



From then, we were still living (GenPop Books, 2010)




    Poetry Center Reading:
    Spring 2011