the fields below
are empty
the sound of high prairie
and faraway birds
sifting
sifting
words and steps
are muffled
on another frozen
landscape
her face and her limbs
are hovering above
sparkling soil
over the tops of
dead wildflowers
with eyes closed and chin tilted skyward
listening for an
ounce of truth
now the streets
are mostly vacant
faint murmurs of
pedestrians
finding their way
to daybreak
she looks to see
them vanish
and reappear
and reappear
into doorways
© 11.11.2014 heather brager
I like this poem. Not only is it well written (deft and artistic phrasing), it also accomplishes that rare poetic feat: natural substances and phenomena allowed to have a subtle metaphysical latency or gist. Further, the poem has the good sense to be cast as an implicit questioning rather than as a dismal blathering.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much, Tim. I've missed your musings.
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