Poetry is not adornment. a truth
       

I don't see how you, pried
open for all the world to see—

How I would like an argument
with you to go to the soil & make it

grow grapes. Of my mouth
nothing fell out as it might
or ought—You make
wine I make water to tell
Ishmael it is so & as such.

That it is not us.
Such is a trope.

A time we plant one black
iris on the windowsill:
we watch it—

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Copyright © 2015 Siwar Masannat All rights reserved
from 50 Water Dreams
Cleveland State University Poetry Center
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission