When will it be?

The white bird says now,

the backyard sleepers, eaters,

say now

and the souls that left

and the souls that arrived

are deep in the immediacy

of an overpowering change

that will guide the current into the sea,

a coral reef barrier prosperity

a summer like a summer never

before – blessed, pulsing with an infant

eternal song, glorifying the dissolving shapes,

the empty spaces now made complimentary,

now made into a rippling harmony singing.

When will it be?

It is, says the voice.

Close your eyes. Open them

and see.



Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst



First published in “Borderless Journal” May 2022

 Poetry by Allison Grayhurst


You can listen to the poem by clicking below:


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