Comment on this article


Not Running Ahead of the Heartbeat
by Duane Niatum

In retreat down the dark cellar,
navigating the memory eruptions with closed eyes,
the heart moves out of its hideaway
with the black and yellow notes
of an April finch sonneteer perched
on a crabapple branch,
one blue and green moment the sun
wandered in the garden.


Return to:

[New] [Archives] [Join] [Contact Us] [Poetry in Motion] [Store] [Staff] [Guidelines]