The Question
Amy Eisner

The days have got that dawdling light back,
So steady I think I've got all day all day.
Shadow staircases scale the walls
Below porch railings where lung-like birds
Tug at shoots in a pot, and a clad girl
Pulls out a turned wooden chair
As the sun rummages for gold in her hair
And the pin-filled trees turn to lace
And greenish pollen rinds a window
And her teacup extends its tea-stained crack
And the watch pin winds in the deeper grass
And I still don't know what to say
Though it's ten lucid months since you asked
Among the windmills by the hull of Africa.

© 2002 Amy Eisner