Re post

Messages from the Vacant Starfields

She spies him in the shadows
where he is reaching, tiptoed,
into the clouds for a particular star
but comes down emptihanded.

He shows her his upturned palm
and mouths one word – yerma
the Spanish for barren, infertile,
which she does not seem to hear.

She cocks her head the way a dog will
when it does not understand.
The lines contour around the base
of his thumb like tractor furrows.

He thinks again of Lorca, and this time
he says espiga, a spike of wheat.
Endrhymes are so much easier
in the Latinate languages.

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About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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