Bell Jar

This entry is part 12 of 19 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Spring 2015


A spit of rain, a shine
of metal in the middle of the desert—
Oasis of an idea the mind will trudge
all night to, for its promise: cleft
that opens in the rock at the touch
of the lips, with each finger’s
compressed longing.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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