Today's poem is by Kathleen Peirce


Nine pearls rolled in the hand
sound like no other thing. One less
and the change was indiscernible,
except the one removed was what
we thought about. We could sense
the coming exhalation when one breath
crossed into another body in a kiss, even
in a dream. What left us, we magnified
to keep ourselves aware things could, and had been
changed, though we appeared ungrateful for
our eight pearls. We expected who could see us
would perceive. Which is how we could bear
the junipers shagged with ice,
and the lark. Some singing cracked the air apart;
we hoped the single pearl belonged to sea again.

Copyright © 2004 Kathleen Peirce All rights reserved
from The Ardors
Ausable Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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