New York Write to Pitch Reviews, Algonkian Writer Conferences, and Poetry Forums

in an open field

not knowing that soil
still clings to them
that their bones
yearn to be found
before they turn to dust

that the wind sings
through them
the endless song
of their former lives

that worms weave
a space for souls
the dead are convinced
will come to them
on a grey winter day

as sparrows foraging
in snowless patches
of last year's stubble

Hi Billy,

a gradual, inevitable resurrection


that worms weave
a space for souls
the dead are convinced
will come to them
on a grey day

as sparrows foraging
in snowless patches
of last winter's stubble



Here @ the vernal equinox, I quote this miraculous trinity:

Hope   Springs   Eternal


and music-video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98LaApCB4l8




Michael (MV)

 
 
 
 
 

Billy

I have been reading this poem,almost every day.It is just right,nothing you can add or take away.

Siva

hello Billy---


i agree with Siva.

love that last image.


bernie

A short and fulfilling poem .
meena