Look, whale spouts, those vast sea giants slow in their grazing. I’m gone
from myself, immobilized by serious longing for what beats finally comp-
lete in its form. Is that too much to ask to vie for? Mercy oh mercy ah me-
rcy. A shill in line breaks as the waves pounding in. Let me be a shoal, a
reef. A shoal and a reef in which we swim but safely where the waters are
clear and we can see bottom. O wavering drifting antennae mark the tide-
lines with careful attentive touching.
One Word, Muse
My ear clasps around your waist
tight as a fat snapdragon blossom
around an infatuated bumblebee.
Here on a beach
with our buckets, I don’t know how
you came up with this notion
but you’re welcome.
How She Calls It A Window
before me through which I decipher three
bells, the trees, the willows piercing through
snow with their tips on fire. Yes, name it
a miracle. Name it a window. That is perfect.
Nancy Christopherson's poems have appeared in publications across the US, UK, and Canada. Author of The Leaf, she resides in Oregon. Visit www.nancychristophersonpoetry.com.