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The warble of melting snow is the river

is the bleat of the sandhill crane is the hush of the autonomous mind        of the flame above the canyon is the cow drinking water from mud          is the cow and the word cow is the deckled face in the overhang of stone is the bone weathered into wood is the wood weathered to stone is the sentence is the moment that longs to be the sentence hidden in a sentence is the legislated road         is the grass is the grass is the nerve that runs from socket to wrist is the common knowledge of aperture and speed is the hole to be yawned into         its origin         the stone that says the impulse of water         is the moss against is the growing in spite of

by Emily Lee Luan

Originally published in Poem-a-Day on October 18, 2023, by the Academy of American Poets

Hear the poet read this poem aloud here

#emily lee luan #poem-a-day #poetry #the warble of melting snow is the river

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#buried abecedary for intensive care #laura kolbe #poetry

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Jen Levitt, from “Dunes”

#jen levitt

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praying for the liberation of Sudan. x

#safia elhillo

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In those days I could fold the sky up and store it in a closet. With every heave of my chest the universe seemed to expand. In those days the rope of the moon floating on the surface of the water was a kind of hope. I hardly noticed the bird’s song limping from its broken nest, hardly noticed the last star struggling against the dawn until the sun betrayed it. Why do we notice so little? Does the river suffer when you plunge your hand into it? Does the wind suffer when it snags itself on a branch? Maybe that’s why we close our eyes to kiss. I think each night was just the bandage I used to cover the deep cuts of His words. Don’t turn away. Don’t imagine you know the story. Our lives are just dreams someone sold to the highest bidder. I thought my own words could trample the stars. I thought my name would nest in the future and take flight. But there was only that dusk of blackbirds. It’s all just Fate settling like dust in the attics of our deeds.

Richard Jackson, from “The Apology of Judas”, Resonance

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Czesław Miłosz, “Ars Poetica?”

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Maggie Nelson, from The Argonauts

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the same city by Terrance Hayes

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song by Adrienne Rich

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any common desolation by Ellen Bass

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David Whyte in conversation with Krista Tippett, On Being [transcript in ALT]

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Robert Wood Lynn, “On My Way Home from the Hospital”

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Robert Moore (American Impressionist)

‘Progressions’

Oil on Canvas, 2017, private collection.

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— Zaffar Kunial, “Foxglove Country,” from England’s Green, reprinted & discussed here at the Guardian

#zaffar kunial

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Sally Wen Mao, from The Kenyon Review (Mar/Apr 2020)

#sally wen mao