MUSICAL POEM
When the triangle
loses a feather,
it doesn’t berate
the hexagon.
It is a Pythagorean
Platonic baby
a lullaby bringing sleep
a Bach certainty
of organ groans,
a beautiful misery
harvesting manna for tired pews.
Alan Britt
Posted over on The Houston Literary Review
1 comment:
That is the coolest poem. And picture to go with it.
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