back ~ home ~ up ~ next poet








So much of what we live goes on inside—

The diaries of grief, the tongue-tied aches

Of unacknowledged love are no less real

For having passed unsaid.  What we conceal

Is always more than what we dare confide.

Think of the letters that we write our dead.


Dana Gioia



© Dana Gioia.  Reprinted by permission of the author.

by Ambo Graphics

back ~ home ~ up ~ next poet