Pieces to Gather
A drowned fish, silver, snared
with an expression of permanent ache.
Eyes, fish stunned, fish glass
glaring from a window in the market
in the dubious afternoon.
The shattered green
of ocean from a storm-struck sky,
lightening-flesh tipping, ripping the lid
and letting in the rains.
Mountains of harsh winters, opaque
like the wings on a featherless angel.
Mountains, male in their faith and in their marriage
Chains, slate grey and criminal
as clouds over rainbows, as necessary
as a first childhood dream
laughed at, forgotten.
© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst