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Saturday, July 24, 2010


daisies growing on the edge
of this lawn
herons setting down along the creek
a constant swirl of wind through ash
thunder from a summer storm

these are facts with no shame
then why create it
from old pages
retraced in many tongues
till all the fact is rung from them

this count is too many fingers
that wave through years
the curl at the sides of a mouth
seen often when a chick
no longer fits inside an empty shell

from this side
the stretch of the lips
betrays denial as if
there could be no one
with what is deeply so different

At each occurrence I feel the sting
to stare into some void
to recover enough to complete
the story that started
to be accepted as what I know

(mp3 file of Barry G Wick reading this poem)

Copyright (c) 2010 by Barry G. Wick

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