in the Houses of Joy
After a long night of storms, daylight
in the houses of joy. Together we stretch
for the ceiling, where stars have burned
holes and darkness drains away.
We fling open shutters, hear birdsong,
then the screech of jays, and howling,
angry dogs chained to metal poles.
We sing in new light. Oak trees groan
under the weight of new leaves. Somehow
we have found our summer legs;
they have grown in the night and driven us
here where new eyes dissolve in an ocean of green.
If you have any comments on this poem, Steve Klepetar
would be pleased to hear from you.