The Edge Of A Reservoir

by George J. Farrah 

                              She told him

but waits until the lashes (lakes)

what do you see?

the sleeping sight

the weather of Mother

the wasteful alone     alove

  the edge of a reservoir

          so high up   (in your clouds)

                                   I am  a  fire  pet

                  she  said

    

   someone   is   the judge

                          

        a  kindness of the hand

                              toward you

wisely  a breath

comes  to  being

  out of the language

of the loving

a relentlessness like

  the    leaves

                          the grass is

                        now

            the whole  world

            as tall  as 

               you are

            and

               as rhythmic

            as you need

                to  be

                       I  think  maybe

            you’re a contribution

            of  pouring  stars

            

                     down  my   shirt

                             he  says

             but the  year wanders. they wander.

__________________


Farrah will appear in the AlteredScale.com issue three launch reading. (Click link for details.)

This poem appears in Farrah's upcoming book,  The Low Pouring Stars (Ravenna Press). Farrah is a visual artist and holds an MFA in writing from Bard College.