Editor’s Desk: A Poem

 

VIOLET

for those at Soquel

 

How many parts

of the vine?

I lift

and the words

fall

the intersection–

a cool light

wind koan,

cluster and branch–

palms open

The slope carries us–

every weeping branch

speaks

the mind a staccato stream–

the heat–

a clover

Autumn near chill,

young bark–

a haze

of true violet

in the ship of silence

a conversation

 

Yon Walls

2012

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