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by Joseph Gordon Wilson

Come down to the water,
sit over the window,
and outwait the beating breaths.
Blow upon the reeds:
bird lust,
and joy.
Lay down upon the wooden dock,
slip the vertebrae cracking,
and watch milkdrops fall from the way.
There is no sorrow in a shooting star,
only faeretale wishes formed from cliché:
vertigo screaming hot streaks,
fades in hope between the ink.
There is no embarrassment in darkness,
lovers carry their flabby bodies together,
hoping for reprieve from themselves,
and see need reflected.
There is no joy untaken by night,
a smile of freedom is cried from newborns,
screaming in the light of a baby sun,
spinning out years into the galaxy.
creaking a return to standing,
and feel unused,
and walking to shore.

* * *

Joseph Gordon Wilson lives in the Seattle area. He recently earned an M.F.A. in poetry from
Northwest Institute of Literary Arts, where he had Carolyne Wright and David Wagoner for
poetry professors.

Where do you get the ideas for your poems?
I download my poems from the voice of the universe.