Wanda McCollar | qarrtsiluni

(untitled)

June 27, 2008 1 comment

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

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