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There is nothing beautiful here

However I may want it. I can’t

Spin a crystal palace of this thin air,

Weave a darkness plush as molefur with my tongue

However I want. Yet I am not alone

In these alleys of vowels, which comfort me

As the single living nun of a convent

Is comforted by the walls of that catacomb

She walks at night, lit by her own moving candle.

I am not afraid of mirrors or the future

—Or even you, lovers, wandering cow-fat

nd rutting in the gardens of this earthly verge

here I too trod, a sunspot, parasol-shaded,

Kin to the trees, the bees, the color green.

from You Darling Thing Find more by Monica Ferrell at the library

Copyright © 2018 Monica Ferrell
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.

Published in Monica Ferrell Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.