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June 27, 2008

becomes the shape of its vessel
bowled or curling round rocks.
What’s seen softens
as it slides down window panes.
It fogs a field with beaded shawls turning
grass blades into bawdy surprises,
bursts forth around a turn in the road
as a lake, a vast plain sparkling
splashing over since childhood.

by Wanda McCollar

Read by Beth Adams — Download the MP3

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  1. July 11, 2008 at 11:42 pm

    I love this poem. Water seems to take me back through life here — indeed, becoming my shape.

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