Poem for the Desert

What kind of poem
could I write if I just sat
in this spot
all
day?

How many rocks?
How many rain drops?
How many questions?
How many guffaws?

Is there silence at all or
do these
Poems
get louder when silence
carries
shrill
laughter?

There’s another –
all ways another –
Something
singing
dinging
just behind
beside –
What is that sound
coming from?

These poems
take the quiet
we try
to find
and we
don’t
mind.

Posted by

Mel Kozakiewicz a professor, editor, writer, and mother of two.

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