From the blue of a bog
the vision unwinds:
a shining, improbable horse,
a long, awkward man.
Arthur, holding his wishes
like untidy roses.
Like a color that opens
the odor of light.
My brother, in the glow
some dreadful angel made—
made it out of boredom
or because he could—
twisting it into a world
that doesn’t love it.
Once he was smaller, nearer.
A child with glimmering fears,
and tall bright enemies.
A boy in a sky so high and gray
it shook with strangeness.
A fragile boy who could not help
but whisper to the light.
And to every thing that flickers
longing onward like a river.
—Published previously in the poet’s most recent book, In the Language
of Lost Light (Poetic Matrix Press, 2021); appears here with her permission.
is a retired attorney who worked for many years with the “Activist” group of poets led by Lawrence Hart and John Hart in the San Francisco Bay Area. Her most recent book is In the Language of Lost Light (Poetic Matrix Press).
