by Reginald Shepherd
The way air is at the same time
intimate and out of reach
(a void with light inside it
turned on a wheel of wheres)
Stars' lease on sky expires, breathes
in leisures of sparrows, wrens
and casual trees, wet sidewalks
twittering with tattered news, old
leaves (hollow bones and branches)
wind of wish and which and boys
waiting for white kisses, rain
of feathers, clouds saving their later
Suppose this sunlight, day split open
suppose these senses and the information
carried, thing and news of the thing
repeating place, location of position
Birds, for example, remembered
fluttering torn terms, congregations
shimmer of hummingbirds
but when does one see more than one
tumbling bright flesh (sky
at hand) pleating afternoon, banking
on mere atmosphere, primary
colors dividing white into
three clean halves (red, green,
blue-bitter berries rasp, crabapples
crush underfoot), the spectrum
says don't stop there
(smudged light a lapse of attention)
there's never enough world for you
(www.poets.org)
I was having trouble choosing a poem because I really wasn't liking many that I read. I was browsing authors and the word "chromatic" in the title caught my eye. As I was reading it, I really loved the imagery and description of every couplet. I had to read it a few times to even understand what the poem was saying. When I finally read every word and understood the sentences, I realized how deep the poem is and how much I really relate to it and love the way it is written.
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