by John Sibley Williams
Beneath the long shadows of crosses and crows
that shade the slopes of passing hills
the white space I have left around this experience
explodes into a smile of oaks—
the page is a blur with unspeak—
there is an audience to every song,
especially the parts unsung:
the stamen
the conversation—
the giant crosses overlooking nothing, then wheat,
are smaller than even the faintest human touch
and the scars left by crows are only visible
when nobody is left to see them.
I want to write nothing,
so much nothing the entire audience
explodes in Ozark flowers.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
John Sibley Williams is the author of six chapbooks, winner of the HEART Poetry Award, and finalist for the Pushcart and Rumi Poetry Prizes. He has served as Acquisitions Manager of Ooligan Press and Publicist for Three Muses Press and holds an MFA in Creative Writing and MA in Book Publishing. Some of his over 200 previous or upcoming publications include: The Evansville Review, RHINO, Rosebud, Ellipsis, Flint Hills Review, and Poetry Quarterly.
Last updated September 08, 2011