photoart: sharon auberle
Something
for the Journey
by
Alice D’Alessio
Suppose,
for instance,
this
is the last morning. You never know.
You
wake to find a wet snow
has
sneaked in after midnight
wrapping
the branches
with
an airy gauze, spangled with diamonds
so
that every snarly twig and tendril
is
an epiphany of white
etched
against the purple-blue
of
an undecided sky.
And
you want to be sure to seize it,
store
it in scented linens,
in
carved and gilded coffers
along
with last May’s poppies,
August
sunlight spilling its motes and spores
among
the pines and sandstone cliffs,
and
a copy of your only perfect poem.
Because
we must take something with us,
like
the pharaohs.
~ previously published in Praise the Undaunted
