The Schmooze

POEM: 'Signs'

It has to do with seeing. Light.
Or dark. It has to do with
knowing. Speak and prophesy,
darken and move:
But what I see is not what I know.
What I hear is not what I believe.
And now the first light is dark,
the morning has not yet lifted the night sky.
Chirping. At first many. Then few.
A call from a deeper-throated bird
till the others rest, and start again together.
Like a chorus with various parts assigned.
I never heard it this way before.
Rumble of planes.
Bees now. Little sounds.
And flaming purple spikes light the garden.

From Linda Zisquit’s recently published new collection “Return From Elsewhere.”

Recommend this article

POEM: 'Signs'

Thank you!

This article has been sent!

Close
Close