If Bells, by Isaiah Silvers
are the persimmon trees who
suspend their weary gems on fog
rooms closed to me ring
the blue-gray toll of all not on
they cut breaths then let each sounder
vanish, cast among their
shades as flint chips
up close, they fossilize
at each approach and clang. If fruit,
Isaiah Silvers was born in Washington, D.C. He now teaches English in Kyoto Prefecture, Japan.
7/6/2020 10:42:01 pm
Thank you for this gem. A gorgeous poem. I have re-read it a few times and it is fresh every time. This: "suspend their weary gems on fog /
Sam King (Cranberry)
8/15/2020 12:05:39 pm
This is a gorgeous poem, Isaiah. It was passed on to me by Janet Hook. Glad to hear you are in my favorite part of my favorite country. Would love to see more of your work.
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