Table of Contents - Vol. VII, No. 2
Emeniano Acain Somoza, Jr.
Somewhere My Ideal Poet
Somewhere a traveler gets lost in a
Somewhere an abandoned path surrenders
to thistles and thickets.
Somewhere a dandelion breaks into a million
Somewhere words float in a cup of cold
Somewhere a vein explodes in the eye
of a tired artist.
Somewhere my ideal poet eats
his last piece.
This much I know, how a river
behaves around hard objects – one sees it
in the way it flows –its malleability
with rocks, their quiet resolve around the bend
& weeping willows that live on the nutrients of a kiss.
Figures of speech, like human touch, vary
according to intensity & reach
What I mean is we all can touch
but, the heart is either out for a walk
Or a dip in a bone-dry river.
© Emeniano Acain Somoza, Jr.