a child tastes
the paper boat’s
the river escapes
a woman sings
the folded poem
In a forest where people believe
that all conflict begins when trees fall asleep
everyone sings to awaken their home
the green ceiling that reaches for sky
and the slow-moving floor
of branched, spreading roots
growth is the forest’s promise,
harmony the human plea.
the long wall of names
I have never seen the wall
I see the hands—touching names
If islands had borders of earth I would search
for some way to help you across the fine line, isolation.
Soul in the sea on a raft in the heart of this waiting
wide arc of stars, wild motion, the waves, churning storm, racing clouds.
Sky, land and sea share a season of light
airborne fireflies, buried glowworms, a red tide of waves on the ocean
glimmer of phosphorescent algae dripping from boats and flying fish
the radiant oars of hope, escaping.
If islands had borders of air I would search for a breeze
soul afloat on a river of stars, tranquil sky, welcome haven.
By: Margarita Engle