Today's poem is by dawn lonsinger
[and every creeping thing that creepeth]
the veined flood did not care what the mute sang
and when he died into it, the event,
gist boarded, feather and fang all abang
in the hull, pupils wet wet, merely lent
for the ride/tide/tidings. Carcasses lift
up around us like advice, flotation
devices. Leashes are of light & sift
into us. Bewitched prey of salvation.
Rumor has it the birds were there, calmly
clattering on deck, drowning the whimpers
below, but really they raised the balmy
air like a flag, darkened the little lures
Noah held in his fists, and then dispersed,
water everywhere burningtotal thirst.
Copyright © 2011 dawn lonsinger All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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