Today's poem is by Muriel Nelson
With a big simile
she wrote he warped his arms around me
and tickled me. Soon all I liked was not
a hymn's "I know inflection,
guilt perfection, or some
hissing blessing, but errors.
Airs. Apparent selves
of steam. When large birds fooled
through blowing firs, the white
gulls vanished into greens
and came back clouds. Black crowds
of crows. They lit where taillights
stared at their red ice. Then flew
where now a sharp arc goes weathering
across the whole blue psyche like ...
a fighter's contrail. But
it doesn't disappear. Dove-white,
it widens. Whiles. Smiles.
And still it's there. Sky-sized
it's warped to one vast quill
Copyright © 2011 Muriel Nelson All rights reserved
from Beloit Poetry Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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