Today's poem is by Elizabeth Biller Chapman
And the Crow Makes Wing to the Rooky Wood
Wings of moss, the fabric of this place where
lambs toward evening chew upon their damp green
grasses till each ewe's distinctive call, then
butt under the belly to nurse. Mother
a sparrow hurls his dawn song at our wall.
Those droplet fingers I nuzzled, your linen
shroud, all becoming mossedonly for an
hour or so at a time can I feel whole.
What thrift, this tide incoming among lined
limpets whose pale blue circles are left behind.
A sand like honeycomb: presence and absence
from me. . . and she moved through the fair. Listen
will you hear field blackbirds, the way they dance,
tap with their feet, pretending they are rain.
Copyright © 2009 Elizabeth Biller Chapman All rights reserved
from Light Thickens
The Ashland Poetry Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Support Verse Daily
Sponsor Verse Daily!
Web Monthly Features
About Verse Daily
Submit to Verse Daily
Publications Noted & Received
Copyright © 2002-2009 Verse Daily
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002-2009 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved