July 18, 2017 – A Year of Poems
The poet crosses ancient bridges,
Serenades decrepit statues,
Swims the Hellespont,
Or rests in a lime-tree in the lake district.
There is great poetry in these things,
Enough to fill at least fourteen lines.
Give me songs of cement streets,
of rendezvous ‘neath metal beams,
of crowded fast food chains,
and construction workers racked by pain
soaking in the rich smell of fresh asphalt,
for while there is great beauty in ancient art
and the sculpted streams and hills of earth
there is a fraction of divinity in every human heart
and the metal-glass constructions with a face at every pane
reflect the fractured glory of the spark in a larger face.