Today's poem is by Leslie Williams
On the nightstand the corpse of a pear,
a whole immobile March,
he shudders awake each four a.m. black
as a whistlethe cold-sweat instant
no hint of who he isto go out
to the dovecote, throw birds to air, gone
with tuff and lift. The blue ache
a sky all for itself, as joy is.
He feels how thin the lattice is
that holds him, fretwork of rotting palm.
Copyright © 2008 Leslie Williams All rights reserved
from Colorado Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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