Morgan Michaels Poems

Tomorrow, in you haven find
all whom specters of the past oppress
hospice of the hopeless, hoping, no less,
to leave ignominies behind.
...

The light is chill silver, the soil, dry-
but for what wet the rain supplies.
No longer arched by such an azure sky
our garden's now a snarl of memories.
...

Tiburones- bellying, gliding in, gone
to the sound of the sea sucking in its breath
or no sound at all. Feathery
pea-green shadows. Not, then back
...

It's when you realize with a start,
with the sudden chortle of wakening
after long sleep, fraught with dubious dreams
that all the assumptions you formed and held
...

And the silently creaking music of the spheres
become momentarily audible, stopping you in your tracks-
really and truly is meant for your eyes alone
really and truly is meant for your ears, only
...

In bed last night
I heard the clock ticking
Curt words that sounded
Like icicles snapping.
...

'Have you ever been in one'? , asked Langley.
Miggi looked at him as if he were simple.
'Of course', he replied. lots. This is Cuba. The Caribbean is a hurricane incubator.
Langley thought of The Tempest. Wasn't Prospero's island supposed to be Cuba?
...

By spontaneous
generation a
leaf flew away a sparrow
...