Shards of Air

Take the  mountain  chains  where  the golden plover has
arrived, run your  fingers  down  the  grassy green slopes.
The shore near the river is green too. Somehow last year’s
leaves  still  hang  on  in  the  cracks  and  crevices;  they
tremble,  they’re  awestruck   and  terrified  as  the  river
churns. But here  in  the  city,  pressed  against a wall, all
your features blur and yet somehow the serene cool green
lingers— if  only  you   could  drift  slowly  into  the  eddy.
Irony of ironies, as you stop to gather your thoughts, you
wish for a handful of wildflowers.

Author of the article

Marc Vincenz is a poet, fiction writer, translator, editor, artist, and musician. He has published 19 collections of poetry, including more recently Einstein Fledermaus, The Little Book of Earthly Delights, A Brief Conversation with Consciousness; and forthcoming, The Pearl Diver of Irunmani (White Pine Press). He is publisher and editor of MadHat Press and publisher of New American Writing. He lives on a farm in rural Western Massachusetts with his wife, Miriam, and their Australian Cobberdog, Emily Dickinson.