Tuesday Poem: originally published by The Syracuse Record in 2003

 

Milkweed Lyric

Here

in this moon

scape snow-lit

night, our bed is

a pod, perched at the

end of a dry grizzled

stalk, heaved by the

wind this way and that.

Here, on the Milky Way’s

shoulder, we curl, snug little

seeds, taking fugitive rest

in a feathery but ephemeral

nest,  tucked in so well

we’re unable to see

what might be out

there waiting, or

where we’ll

be planted

next.