Not Yet There

This entry is part 12 of 92 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Spring 2011


The tree is intricate, a lattice
with many moving parts: sparrows,
robins, a blackbird’s creak.

The ox in the sky pulls the plow.
The archer strings his one good
arrow across the bow. The dipper’s

hinged against the lip of the grassy well.
And I have only my hungry heart, my
wobbly heart: I cart it everywhere I go.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← Postcard to GreyLetter to the Street Where I Grew Up (City Camp Alley, Baguio City) →


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.