Detail
       

Unslide a door you're not allowed
to sh ut, unlock a box
in which the music's dusk, the kept
does rise and fade the sky, the mist
in little drops does fill the air
and in this way another sky
di ssolves, layered clouds spin past
a minor cleft the sun undoes,
voices after dark have depth enough.
They are our blue glass chime,
hour after hour, one door and the next
transported from a major key until
each motion seems exact, the same.

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Copyright © 2016 Barbara Claire Freeman All rights reserved
from Every Day But Tuesday
Omnidawn
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission