Mira Gut by pd Lyons as published by Lost Sparrow Press


 

There are no flowers here but snow.

The bay not yet free chunked with ice

the white of which exists only against a distant liquid sea.

at least the sun visits, comforting,

illusion though it is,

visions of thawing, melting down to something green.

 

In the long sleep of winter, I have dreamed

something Spanish that you said along a twilight turquoise

something soft covering sun drenched shoulders

silver threads   an old man’s harp

played for money by the moon

 

The Lost Sparrow

http://lostsparrowpress.com/shop/#!/The-Lost-Sparrow/p/86541732/category=0

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