It's just poetry, it won't bite

Sunday Ride at Dusk

07.18.13 Posted in words to linger on by

Lynn Ciesielski’s poem Longest Light appeared here in June (2013).

Sunday Ride at Dusk
By Lynn Ciesielski

With hopes of viewing short-eared owls,
we drive to Iroquois Preserve.
You see a bin tumbling from a truck onto the road.
We swerve to miss it but our words collide instead.
I want to pick the radio station, though yours just played
my favorite song.
Our chatter dies next to a smattering of gravestones
on someone’s lawn.

Across a sky turning from azure to mango to indigo,
geese fly in formation on their way to spring.
Three metal crosses rust near the road
while a steeple rises skyward atop a church.
Stained glass windows illustrate the sacred text.

Tented tin buckets hang from maples collecting sap.
Scrub from a corn crop mars the landscape.
We scatter a few words, birdseed on desiccated grass
but conversation, like the owls, eludes us.

Comments are closed.

Latest Podcast Episode
vox poetica archives