Welcome to a week of poetry in honor of National Poetry Month. Enjoy new work each day.

by David Sorensen

by James Croal Jackson

Our world is made
of water, of sadness.

Blue hues in a
supermarket’s faces.

Green bills,
blue hills.

These are wings of sky,
the mechanics of flight:

sidewalks float bugs
that gently illuminate.

There are no more
fireworks, only quiet

landing of legs
onto concrete,

the resting a belief
you do your best,

you try.