Here is another poem-a-day for National Poetry Month. Anacortes is a town on the west coast of Washington state in the USA.
Riding along the bike way
clouds of blue heron
rise from the reeds by the levy.
The mountains and water
hold each other in close blue distance
like quarreling lovers.
Oil tanks cluster
along the Puget Sound shoreline
like pharaonic tumors.
Here is a poem-a-day for day four of national poetry month in the USA.
I have lost my way in the sky–now, where?
You holy fool, you bird of God.
You drank whole glasses
of police tea without turning black.
I am still warmed by your poems
rising above the frozen breath of the camps, above the smell of dark rye bread cut with sawdust and of people not long for this world.
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