Monday, August 20, 2018

Where I might live

Where I might live

I could live in the air,
the sixteenth floor or higher,
an aerie over prairie,
enough to feel the volume

of grass bending to sky,
misty horizons grown sharp,
edge anchored to the eye.
Height can be gorgeous glory.

Or I could live so low,
the sun always marginal,
aslant along sidewalks,
spilling through the half windows

gridded by iron bars,
skirting the wee dank shadows
of underground, of hope
(all hope so soft and secret).

I could live. I could live
from moment to moment and
whether the eye of bird
or mole could sense sky's changing.

I could unfold myself
and become the atmosphere,
all of it, all the light
and dark, all of the turning.

jlarue.com - Welcome

In November of 2018, I left my position at ALA in Chicago to return to my Colorado-based writing, speaking, and consulting career. So I'...