One way to think of this breath of a poem is as the shortest possible biography of an unknown author still creating this world. But there are other ways, which involve rainbows and clouds, religion, philosophy, hope, loss, grief, triumph, and despair. As for myself, I give thanks for fresh air.
One stray crocus, raised like a prophet’s fist.
Poems, Slightly Used, March 1, 2009
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Categories: Poems, Slightly Used