The Innisfree Poetry Journal
by Dave Seter
When the wind blows hard here angels take cover.
Maybe that's how you came to me, through cracks
in these former barracks walls where I trace knots
and gnarls and write my poems. Tonight, the moon
strikes the ocean until it gleams like a shield.
The sergeants and corporals are gone, but artists
take their place as sentries among this broken rock.
I wasn't built for war, or to agitate peace.
I'm strictly a dreamer of clouds and comets,
but science has let me down, unable to predict orbits.
Tonight winter overtakes the willows and washes away
their gowns, our syllables. I don't doubt
the slingshot force of the Universe. Written into
the sky, we circle —but never really speak —you and I.
Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication