Providence

That painting is a map
with people living on it.

That symphony is a set of instructions
with geraniums growing from the clefts.

That architecture is a lukewarm ribcage
woven together with tiny songs.

That poem is an argument
fluttering in the midst of a migration.

That love is a sturdy seed bag
with its own remembrance of the moonlight leaned against it.

Copyright © 2006 Christian Barter All rights reserved
from The Literary Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission