Morning Doves
doves
like
drops of near-vanquished darkness
caught
on high branches
hang
backlit
by
winter dawn
I may want to weigh them
with
symbolism
you
you you
dusky capsules
hiding
souls of my dear lost ones
radiance
beginning its ascent
but truth
is
they live they
fall soar in a hurry of dropped
feathers from fierce talons
for
themselves alone
And No Soul Sing
just as in youth when—lover
absent—
each soft-grass
meadow made blood
course engorge skin
tingle with desire
each hidden nook each dale
bore imprint of mind’s
eye rapture
so now when winter
winds rev up with motor fury
our mortal dress
rips a little more
bones through every screaming tatter
answer bare
choirs’ clatter
yearn for the
letting go
for breaking
coils
to
join storms’ boundless grind
As
it flows
No longer does the color of the world stay within
bounds. Perhaps we only thought it does, for bark on the distant pine becomes
camouflaged bird, the rare bird on the beach turns into an ancient boulder
encrusted with barnacles and algae, lily pads opening under pond skin swim,
changing to orange koi, bearded lichens clothe bare choirs in glamour of springtime,
pinecone clinging—a swinging nest, or nest left over from last year’s brood—a
cone, seedless, swaying.
Anca Vlasopolos: the award-winning novel The New Bedford Samurai; the award-winning memoir No Return Address: A Memoir of Displacement; four collections of poems, Often Fanged Light (Adelaide Books, 2019), Cartographies of Scale (and Wing) (2015), Walking Toward Solstice (2012, and Penguins in a Warming World (2007); three poetry chapbooks, a detective novel, Missing Members, and over three hundred poems and short stories in literary journals.
www.vlasopolos.com
"No matter how bad things get you got to go on living, even if it kills you."—Sholem Aleichem
No comments:
Post a Comment