Featured Poem 8/12/01:


I praise the churches of clouds
and crows who are
the hands of men
burned at the stake
what they shouted

while fire hugged them
slaps the sky

I praise the light poured
from a cup
shaped like a shark
cut by your thought
they were soft clouds
crow's lunch
the blue bird's best guess
I drink a bottomless cup of

wind launched
on a june night
leads to this:
coarse grass was lips
pour sugar on your gun

the moon is a pillow for you
the moon is a snowball
thrown by god
are you ducking?
will you catch it?
who besides you throws?

I open my arms
like a tree
my heaven is how
warm you are
god is in us
the crow is in your eye

I lay a stick in the water
so I can see where
pieces of river
worry to
who owns this broken
than water?
will an otter tug it down?

I hold a pen to my skin
jot your name and swim
the fish gulp
the emptiness inside
the letters of
your cursive name

I do not believe
I will not know everyone
and love them
as loud as a thunderstorm

like a lion
on sand
I am restless and sharp

like a lamb in rain
I was made
to need love

© 2001 Abraham Smith


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