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To be sure, there aren't many happy seahorses
(Hummingbirds of the shallows, hovering);
Instead, they dart about, unspeakably lovely,
Reflecting curiously upon their lives,
Their diaphanous fins fluttering,
Yearning to be eternal, to understand.
Some, not many, emerge from their seahorse
Eyes (little question marks, hovering),
View themselves and cry: Oh! How lovely!
Emerge from their dark blue lives, fluttering,
Nodding--How could we have failed to understand?
All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
