WHATEVER THIS IS

i call it new things now,
like over, just
too different, we each
want things the other
does not want, like
wings to your arms
are nothing but good
times with an old lover.

i call it old things now,
like silence, like
petals in a summer breeze,
like swelling buds of faith,
pieces of the core
of the earth, like
stillness at the very center,
shimmering reflections
of the river at dawn.

© Joan Barton, 1999

Next...

Back to The Poems.