Spell Against Grey

I am looking for the little cathedral
window Neruda found in a slice of lemon,

for the cascade of rain that rice
grains make inside a hollow reed;

I am searching in the wild rose bushes
for the tiny hearts of deepest red

the birds return to again and again;
for the five-pointed star exploding

seeds in the apple’s creamy interior. Warm-
wet or windy: but I want to remember

the day’s pallor is merely one scene
in the stack of cards dealt by that

unseen fist: deceptive green, curled leaf
caught too in the first blush of death.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← On the Nature of ThingsLandscape, with Castoffs on the Sidewalk →

1 Comment

  1. Rather alarming given that you are coming down with your daughter’s bug! But you are too lovely and vivid here to be in too much danger! XD And be well…


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