Today's poem is by Sarah O'Brien


Say sun, say feather, say here. The whole
world is synonyms. Sea glass
                                            from the color grass a set
                              of skew mirrors—a hand hinge
            turn gently, not unlike
intense speed lifting the ground from itself
                              the eye to its moving window. Where you always
see a tree or snow fenced in
by falling limbs, the feathered edge
                                                    of full cloud rushing
                                        out of frame. Using the world
      as its rocks, one makes the world its toy, i.e. to point in a lens-
      shape, a pond
            rushed over its lip, the sun circles itself, the snow tremble

of all white
turned, turned
and settling.

Copyright © 2009 Sarah O'Brien All rights reserved
from Catch Light
Coffee House Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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