This day passed as quickly
as yesterday, no sunrise,
only a lightening of sky
and later, a darkening.
Rain washing down on
snow, then snow on rain.
A measure of solitude.
A measure of sadness.
Four a.m. awake in that
border space. Ice fog
to the ground. What do I
look for in this place? Some-
thing that hides in the day. Some
color, some shape undimmed
by pragmatism. Some measure of joy.
--
Sharon Brogan
http://www.sbpoet.com
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I am so distressed by the Terry Schaivo case; it is so close it makes
my bones shudder. I am near to a vitriolic public rage, & try to keep
it in bounds -- but it leaks in this poem; the despair. I know I need
to write, something, on point -- but I resist with every grief
avoiding tear in my body.
Still, it may come.
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