Cold Pillow
You ask me why
I walk so long
Among mountains:
What words can cage
The emerald-green hummingbird
Zipping along lupine?
Can still stream water
Somersaulting
Over smooth granite?
Next year at this time,
My pillow may be cold.
For now, I must keep moving.
A poem by Steven F. Fuller of Fair Oaks.
Published on 09.21.06
A poem by James Lee Jobe of Sacramento.
Published on 09.14.06
A poem by Jim Wittenberg of Sacramento.
Published on 08.31.06
A poem by Tavarus Blackmon of Sacramento.
Published on 08.24.06
A poem by Amanda Burke of Sacramento.
Published on 08.17.06