Treasure Island

James Arlington Wright

(13 December 1927 – 25 March 1980 / Ohio)

Beginning


The moon drops one or two feathers into the fiels.
The dark wheat listens.
Be still.
Now.
There they are, the moon's young, trying
Their wings.
Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow
Of her face, and now she steps into the air, now she is gone
Wholly, into the air.
I stand alone by an elder tree, I do not dare breathe
Or move.
I listen.
The wheat leans back toward its own darkness,
And I lean toward mine.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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  • Dan Hise (11/17/2013 12:23:00 PM)

    A poem about the otherness of the world, a strangeness that may be transcended temporarily by one who has the proper amount of humility and acceptance. Compare Danse Russe by W. C. Williams. (Report) Reply

  • Jerry Buckley (2/9/2010 11:27:00 AM)

    James Wright is an icon for the generation. Worthy of full consideration by anyboyd who claims to love poetry. (Report) Reply

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