A Poem by linda m. crate
bluebirds sing in your eyes
sun stars in your locks
magnolia lips dance their kiss
the birds of you nest
their song in my ears
the eggs of psalms hatching
some song i can scarcely remember;
you awoke in me a need
to cleave the bitterness
hanging it into pomegranate
sunsets that know nothing more than melancholy —
you washed over me hymns of light,
rivers of bliss:
You broke me out of the stone.
Let me sing a song of thanksgiving
and let’s harmonize a better medley
for all the world to hear.