The soap opera journal of a poet who has set up household on the edge of Leona Canyon in Oakland, California where she creates meaning for herself from the vortex.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Only
Only in nothingness there is unity. Here the off-ramp loops around.
Only beneath a glass does a butterfly become a sepulcher of wings.
Only in the quiet of my living room does night air breathe pagan song.
1 comment:
hello, writergrll...
can you record this poem for i-Outlaw (http://i-outlaw.blogspot.com/), my audio poetry show?
let me know when you get a chance: bmarcacci AT gmail DOT com...
thanks and take care...
Bob Marcacci
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