No
Willow Creek Utah is where:
no willows weep
no creek creeps
and the sky is alone.
Wet is a long-gone lover
and no nahuana hum-hovers
above the miragewater dance
of desert magic.
There is no tractor ping.
No blades to boulders sing.
No couples toil the rocky soil
with grinding hips or slippery lips
here among the silken tongues
of dusty fullmoon fire.
No, there are just rows
of snakeskin and stone,
and they remain silent.
original posted [here]
Poetry
Erin, I thought the original was great, but now that it's been through a rewrite, I have to say, I see what you meant about it's lyrical quality. This one is so much better! See, that's my problem- I'm a terrible revisionist.
ReplyDeleteand my problem is that I'm addicted to revision ;)
ReplyDeleteDo you know how long it's been since I wrote anything that rhymed?
I fear it... is it a sign of regression?
*says a poet's prayer to avoid rhyming poetry!*