Night creeps into the glass
figures on my window sill.
Shadows reveal layers
in the thick bud vase.
Its flowers hold only
a clue of red, a guess
of green. But the bluebird
and my mother's tiny cat become
three cobalt dimensions
and the street lights
are planets inside them.
figures on my window sill.
Shadows reveal layers
in the thick bud vase.
Its flowers hold only
a clue of red, a guess
of green. But the bluebird
and my mother's tiny cat become
three cobalt dimensions
and the street lights
are planets inside them.
This, too, is a masterful poem: "a clue of red, a guess/ of green." Thank you for having posted this, the 4th poem you've blogged this month! There is such grace in your words. This reader is grateful.
ReplyDeleteAnd I am grateful for you! Hmm, four poems this month . . . maybe I'm getting back in the swing of things :)
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