< Issue 9 >
Walled—In
by Christine Tsen
A summer requiem lights the air
with cindery scent
as we walk, Thoreau and I.
Leaves of mulberry fall
nourishing sapling,
cedar damask spruce silk and spike.
I dip toes in swollen streams
where blossoming marmalade gowns
smolder at pond’s edge.
Here feathers are music;
Everything a heart’s rhythm.
I revel in his outrage of conformity,
“Yes, oh yes I do understand, and why
should we be within the confines of walls,
a roof?” I hear myself almost yell
over unceasing interruption of a drum
beating amidst crunch of leaves
wild hearts, libertine birds leaving
odd-fitting bits in overflowing cups
and I am in company of sages;
A lone loon crying.
Walled—In
by Christine Tsen
A summer requiem lights the air
with cindery scent
as we walk, Thoreau and I.
Leaves of mulberry fall
nourishing sapling,
cedar damask spruce silk and spike.
I dip toes in swollen streams
where blossoming marmalade gowns
smolder at pond’s edge.
Here feathers are music;
Everything a heart’s rhythm.
I revel in his outrage of conformity,
“Yes, oh yes I do understand, and why
should we be within the confines of walls,
a roof?” I hear myself almost yell
over unceasing interruption of a drum
beating amidst crunch of leaves
wild hearts, libertine birds leaving
odd-fitting bits in overflowing cups
and I am in company of sages;
A lone loon crying.
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