the gold cup, the silver chalice, the brass ring,
or anything else that says
the grass will grow less because you haven't won.
It's what they don't give prizes for -
the universal wheat,
the tide that raises all ships,
to arrive at hope for others,
to revel in the reflection of the moon,
as it dances on the river's waters -
that lets us write,
like Li Po and Tu Fu,
the poetry of failure
that lasts
for thousands of years


Brandywine
5/24/98