November 19, 2011

Alison Woolpert

Alison Woolpert

New Year’s Day
ahead of where the wave breaks
the flight of one tern
spring melt
the tight-lipped family secret
everyone knows
by-the-wind sailor
no one at his funeral
sure of what to say
a hole in the rock
letting the world slip through
—late July light
summer moon
our paddles dip and tuck
the coolness back
on the porch …
the sound of this peach
is conversation
the coyote bush
bursts open on this side first
—why not?
you swear
you can hear the stars
—muteness of the moon
drying persimmons
this deepening of color
so deliberate
wide winter sky
the released doves circle once
and are gone

All poems copyright by Alison Woolpert. They may not be used for any purpose without explicit permission.