Poems by James Owens

The Blue Hour

Hard Rain

Blackbirds were there and not there,
flickering as darkly as the forest,
in and out of the wind,
quick needles sewing the day to our blood.

She said, “They are seeds on the first breath of creation.”

She said, “Maybe there is a world where chaos
is distinguishable from order, but I won’t go there.”

She said, “My bones are hollow, too,
and when I tumble onto the grass
with my arms wide, the sky falls into me.”

Her face was shining.

It breaks my heart when I remember
that this was the day before the storm.

I told you: look, it is snowing

It was beginning
just then, outside

in the winter sunlight,
first flakes erratic and

quick, from a cloud-
swept wilderness.

You were three years old.
I loved you, and

the same snow was already falling
in some other year

when I…

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By nikiasyikin Posted in Food

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