Poetry at Sangam



The Transformation by Stephen Collis

Lean over me
trees you
antlers of heaven
earth’s first and
last defense your
fists full of
eagles and
dusk-in-day shadows
I trip at the edge
of enlightenment
lacking roots no
sense of the nearness
or rejuvenation of
forest fires the
dead Buddhist master
I want to spy
high in your boughs
looking to get up
at last into the sky