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