RESTORATION
Where will I
hang my hammock
now that the
old land is poisoned?
Hang
it in the dance.
Hang
it in the poem.
Hang
it in the bells.
Hang
it in the breath.
There,
in the wind
of imagination
I swing,
every hour
golden.
Dia Calhoun
This is stunning. I absolutely love that anything is possible in the imagination. Thank you! : )
ReplyDeleteThoughtful, lovely verses - beautiful last stanza. Thank you for sharing!
ReplyDeleteWow. This is amazing. The first two lines are so painful, but then there's an answer...
ReplyDelete