December Muse

Jo Hollis

Jo Hollis

to feel drought
in the middle of December
with the water`table so high
and two inches of fresh snow
fallen during the endless night
still no sooner will my words
open than I see them wither
born as they are in clay pots
baked hard by

finds you flown
south to find the warm sun
shining on the orchard leaves
where a blossom unfolds even
as fruit falls into a waiting hand
as once my words fell to yours
their stems so strong and tall
opening leaf on leaf on leaf
blossoming into

“You carry a saucer of clean water,
Smelling faintly of lemon, that spills
Into the dark roots of what
Was I saying? . . .” ~ Robert Hass


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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