May Suspensions

The air carries its liquidity, gray sheen of shell
Across the pines and maples
Summoning
                 the depleted world back,
As though to answer some question, that line
Of questioning pushing against

The air, each letter straggling—
                                                my daughter repeats
Basho—morning glories
The only ones straggling to the door.

Air hung with virga,
                               nothing reaches its ground,
Traveling so, who reaches their home
Again and again?—
                               the beech's deep rouge
Is shelter,
Dry ground, brown and dun, these are the ends,
Clutter and murmurs from above.

Copyright © 2003 James McCorkle All rights reserved
from Crazyhorse
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission