Between the Acts

Strange cries that filter through the fog
and trees: blur of goldfinch and raven wings,
loping legs of deer. In between these acts,
a silence which I color every now and then
with my own speech, or tears.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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  1. Lovely interstice of meter and mixed senses. Like clearing the stage, or the palette.


  2. Hi Peter — all of a sudden your comment took me back to some years ago when a friend took me to a fancy French restaurant in Chicago; in between courses, they brought out little scoops of lemon sorbet to cleanse the palate. :)


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