A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
A sunlit wooden table with some scars.
Jar of honey casting its wavering gold ghost.
Spring water and the smell of the pines.
And you with your heart wide open.
Is this too much to ask? Why would you
deny me such a simple thing?
I have all but the last. Short life,
how simple we are deep down but
the mind is a prism that fractures the whole.
Copyright 2015 Doug Anderson