Drawing by Judith Wolfe

RICHARD HILLMAN /

Poem



      23 January 1999, early morning

      I burn into morning
      but am eclipsed
      by Your touch.

      The sun's yellow hands
      are caked in clouds.

      Fingertips spread
      white icing above the cherry tree.

      Each red word falls
      from the ripe tree
      like a crumb.

      I watch
      birds swallowing mouthfalls.

      But they do not grow heavy.
      Perhaps words
      are lighter
                    than feathers.


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