Friday, July 27, 2012


photo: sharon auberle

 by Sharon Auberle

everything we touch turns to a
poem, when the spell is on...
      ~  Linda Pastan

the mystery of cornstalks
murmuring among themselves

a brown-skinned man
in orange serape
walking between them

the slump of his shoulders
tugging at my heart...

from any of these
a poem might grow

but today
there is only the man
light streaming down on him

he, who could be an angel
for all might be holier
than we know

his serape, fiery
in morning sun
the wind lifting it

like wings

~ first published in the Peninsula Pulse