Jan Richardson

Jan Richardson

we all waken
from our dreams
Night ones or day
Nothing endures
Not Heaven
or Hell

In the end
all is mortal
Even death dies
Gives way like birth
by bloody passage
to a realm

In a womb
we all wonder
How shall we then
breathe under water
where in long grass
we now float
so pale?

Only then
will we know
all next meanings
to things now hidden
Then breathless
we will inhale


About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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