Barns in Snow

The sunset here, through acts of trees.
To quarrel up the boundary
green like grass: a quandary I was wishing
through you in commotion, there he
creeps across the floor. Will you listen
at the blue table, round as water worn anew—
the rushes grow—a cat crows
birdlike in the ear. Of what befell
the lust mistook
for sorrow, being tired, wish to move this
is not snow. Along the highway nor a
woman nor a bad idea. Don't be silly
like a pillow full of atoms, where to lay your
head with horses
in the happiness
Objective

Copyright © 2007 Lisa Fishman All rights reserved
from The Happiness Experiment
Ahsahta Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission