A Public Sphere for Poetry, Nature, and Politics
Nevertheless, blindly, we smile:
and again our ancient vision
sponges paint and sunlight,
our ears prick at the stuttering
clock, the hiss of tires on pavement.
a thought tumbles down
the back stairs into the shadowed
kitchen. Let us watch the white cat
sink his teeth into a throat.
His beauty ripples like water.
Copyright 2017 Dawn Potter