After the Fall
Why does the bird sing? Because it will? Because it must? Because it can? As the child is a poet, the child is a man. And the man goes out on a limb. Why does the man sing? To break, and to bend. To break . . . . . and to bend. [ 20 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Aging’
Long Time Passing
My mother grew sweet alyssum in the bed by the porch. That is my childhood. There is more, of course. Her birthday on the Fourth. And the force that transformed us. Mind gone, her body a torch. Mine gone, to alyssum. And a smile that could be a rainbow, or door. A limb to sing from? A wind chime? A breeze? An arch? [ 18 ]
William Michaelian 