Today's poem is by Anne Rouse
A small flame flings itself about,
a wittering, an astronaut,
riding the kindled air above
the burgundy chrysanthemum.
The flame, the red, the window view,
are the locus, fine netting for a haul
of happiness in a peopled room
but mind is more than merely eye.
Mind is also fingers, primed
at once to manoeuvre, and move.
Include, then, that beat-up bicycle outside,
in the failing evening.
Copyright © 2005 Anne Rouse All rights reserved
from The School of Night
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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