Nine

The scene outside my window
spreads out in pristine white
this April day,
on the heels 
of the first fickle kiss 
of Spring.

Something just a little mystical
hangs in the air,
as if proclaiming the alphabet
has twenty-seven letters
might not seem so strange
on a day like today.

In the shade of a shadowed moon
I sit counting by nine,
stopping just two shy of two grand,
where it feels like yesterday
and yet forever
all at the same time.

And there I find the beginning
nestled in the rushes along the shore
where two streams merge.
 

april 2007
Janet Reid



 



Awarded by Poetic Constellations