Perihelion: An Online Journal of Poetry and Mayhem
The Phoenix Issue, No. 16, Winter 2008


Light in the Orchard

 The black crows don’t rise frequently from yellow fields
 in sunset anymore though the sentiment does---you see
 the earth as a trammeled garment beneath your feet and
 the blue, teeth-marked cavity of water and sky circling around,
 blue on copper, blue-green, green-auburn, and although
 you wish to repent and say: no country is worth fighting
 for—the rain light will suddenly riffle through the breeze
 until finally you spot the swans bristling on the pond,
 blood-colored clouds flaring in their black eyes,
 and then away one last time to the orange grove,
 where birds plight in your stall.