What the day might have said is flying
Whispers on shadows on waves
Green from deep in the grasses
The bottoms of my feet has stained
I've heard the far song in its rising
Feathers on inkstains on waves
Notes from hot brick sustained
Drifting over the forests' graves
Where we chase sunrise we're scrying
Secrets on laughter on waves
Pines who write the morning
Dreams screamed in gull staves
Late to the first of the new year and odd, that's where we are. Sharing this with The Sunday Muse for Muse #89....which, wow. Eighty-nine Sundays of poems. A hopeful thing to focus on in the beginning of the year. There are all the minor adjustments of new circumstances and upcoming weirdnesses and the way that all of my projects from last year fell by the wayside to accommodate a new one that is insisting that it gets the attention in the beginning of the year. Hope that you find yourself in a hopeful place as the year changes.
Happy new year!
-- Chrissa
Chrissa, this is my favourite poem of yours so far. Too many things I love about it to repeat. It just - works. And so beautifully.
ReplyDelete"I've heard the far song on its rising feathers on inkstains on waves" wow this whole poem is gorgeous Chrissa!! An amazing start to the new year! I love love love this!!
ReplyDeleteA marvelous song! I hear it in the soprano range--what the day said, the far song, laughter, and, yes, more.
ReplyDeleteAnother masterpiece Chrissa. 😊
ReplyDeleteI love the style this was written in Chrissa. This is a favorite!
ReplyDeleteHappy 2020 to you too, Chrissa!
ReplyDelete