Today's poem is by Louise Mathias
Each winter has its inopulent day.
In the field where lost souls gathered, vibrato
through the trees, impressionistic
a faulty realistic. I believed that faith
was a box. (That once we were in it,
the lid would snap shut
with a calm & a clasp.) We'd escape
to our own interior gaze, which grows
in one direction & with the taut
precision of violin strings.
Now, a bleating school of winter trees.
What is this new deliberation on my hands?
Copyright © 2004 Louise Mathias All rights reserved
from Lark Apprentice
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Support Verse Daily
Sponsor Verse Daily!
Web Monthly Features
About Verse Daily
Submit to Verse Daily
Publications Noted & Received
Copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004 Verse Daily
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved