Poetry Appearing in Poetry In Motion® Portland

I Think of Your Eyes

David Biespiel

Flame-blue as chicory.
That season of lost light seeping in.
Wind you called rapture. Falling stars�"
I wanted to pick them up
From the sunken grass
Like glittering bugs.
We held hands, the human pleasure.
Little oracles, the fingers. We listened
And breathed
In the unexpungable
Sky. The thought of God
Was dew on our heads.
 
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"I Think of Your Eyes" from Shattering Air, BOA Editions. Copyright © 1996 by David Biespiel. Reprinted with the permission of the author.

 

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