Easy no longer the moneyed hush nest
dark winds bruise the honeyed croissant.
Love seizes only canonical vessels
a feather’s west turn
to the bridal arc green, turning green
year beneath me, the wages are liege, & our hope
a near fern without blanket.
O needless of blanket rum waves in the skin
cooler than god are the salmon, & blue the balloons.
© 2005 Dana Ward
lives in Cincinnati, where he edits Cy Press. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Wherever We Put Our Hats, Coconut, The New College Review, and 6x6.
