Nothing

I often speak of flowers I can’t see

or talk of wild geese

as they fly south—

the rhetoric of sightlessness

fills with nouns

the way some people’s houses

have mirrors

in the attic,

and night

is starry and clear.

 

Unknown's avatar

Author: stevekuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University

Leave a comment