Poems by John Pilkey |
Antonio Canova. Sleeping Nymph (c. 1820) What summer nights have promised us to mean succeeds as long as air can carry sound, uphold night wings from fluttering to the ground, or push its pleasant fingers through a screen. The messages night honors air to send depend on how we drink the distance in and whether wings of hope that lie within spread to flatter back the welcome wind. Because night knows what plowing troubles bring, her whispering is all the present needs to fill the air with circuses of seeds, which windy hands of darkness sometimes fling. An ear that sprouts night seed into a brain allows her shadowy hands to reach and reign. John Davis Pilkey |
Night Hands |
