Home > Water > (untitled)

(untitled)

June 27, 2008

Water
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

add to del.icio.us :: Stumble It! :: post to facebook :: Digg it :: add to reddit :: Add to Blinkslist :: add to furl :: add to ma.gnolia :: seed the vine :: add to fark :: TailRank

Categories: Water Tags:
  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.

  1. No trackbacks yet.
Comments are closed.