Friday, April 5, 2013

RESTORATION


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

3 comments:

  1. This is stunning. I absolutely love that anything is possible in the imagination. Thank you! : )

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  2. Thoughtful, lovely verses - beautiful last stanza. Thank you for sharing!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Wow. This is amazing. The first two lines are so painful, but then there's an answer...

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