quinta-feira, 20 de janeiro de 2011

Poem of the day: Vision


Erica Funkhouser

Vision

With age
mirage
assuages
what the youthful eye
would have studied
until identified—
chicory? bluebird? debris?
Today no nomenclature
ruptures
the composure
of a chalk-blue haze
pausing, even dawdling,
now and then trembling
over what I'm going to call
fresh water.

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