Today's poem is by Edward Beatty
Exhalation has shaken the old people from the trees.
A week of trembling becomes a gust of red, yellow,
brown, orange butterflies commemorating the year.
Inhalation: waves of discarded wings sweep streets,
bury walks, smother grass, obscure earthly boundaries.
One child, home-schooled, remains behind to rake.
By four the fallen are Himalayas hallowing the alley
and he, like a seer, sets down his staff, lights a match.
Soon the Bead's wisdom pours from a pyre, settles,
becomes a dark stream parted by a passing school bus.
Copyright © 2006 Edward Beatty All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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