William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Fire Line

The coming of autumn: the first yellow birch leaves,

And a park bench that looks like an old upright piano,

Which she plays quite naked, save for the wind in her hair

And a bright necklace of newly sprouted mushrooms.

She laughs: I’m only a painting!

Yes. But I can’t help myself. I see it all here.

Is there something special you’d like me to play?

Anything. Anything. And then it rains.

Later, the sun explains. But I can’t understand him.

September 19, 2020


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Categories: New Poems & Pieces

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