Sunday Poem

There’s something in both of these poems pointing the same way:

A Few Delicate Needles

It’s so delicate, the light.
And there’s so little of it. The dark
is huge.
Just delicate needles, the light,
in an endless night.
And it has such a long way to go
through such desolate space.

So let’s be gentle with it.
Cherish it.
So it will come again in the morning.
We hope.

by Rolph Jacobsen
from
The Roads Have Come to an End Now
Copper Canyon Press, 2001

Poem as Bumble Bee

of course
it cannot
fly

fat thing
with stubby
wings –

yet see
it lumber
from

reader
to reader
legs

loaded
with flower
dust.

by Nils Peterson

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