May 16, 2012
We make a thing we marvel
and learn to worry.
Light
through the red glass of a prophet’s robe
makes us red.
We see the horse return the hour before storm
in distress.
We distress.
The thing we make
learns to marvel light.
We think worry is a robe
we can outgrow.
In the mirror we see our bodies without robes
distressed.
It storms.
The prophet marvels at the horse
that spoke.
This poem was one of the winners of the 2012 “Discovery” Poetry Contest.
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May 16, 2012
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