The light and color of the blossoming trees
Is chrome and orange
Pale stars of fruit in explosions of color
And while a fragmentary nightingale sings
Sounding over and over like an incantation
Only quite recently hewn
I stand still transfixed by a morning
That is like a sermon
My thoughts forever coming and going
Through the long closed gate of muffled paintings
Like wooden shoes that fade away
Until they emerge in cornfields where
Even the very shadows there
Turn to the oldest of gold
With very little provocation.
More from Issue #2
A Sequence of Rainbows by Ken L. Jones
The first spring day is blissful serenity Fresh water from the mountains Brought down unto me After a winter that has played an ape Until all was so very pale That I…
Beyond Velvet by Ken L. Jones
The day breaks beautifully in the piety of weary boulders As I am summoned by the fields to sojourn in the ancient there Amidst the meadows of purple flowers at the height…
Old Orchard Slow Melt by Ken L. Jones
Early autumn is brass toned beneath the sunflowers And the fallen acorns and boysenberries announce It is coming on now and hard And here where the frogs jump like rocking horses in…
The NEW by Dave Gregg
Softly she dabs at crimson stars her hand towel bright with glow you never say where you find them but keep a tidy sky