WAITING FOR A SIGN by Michael Minassian


She waits for me in the garden
without reproach
though darkness gathers
in the tops of the coconut palms
as words are sawn off;
arrested conversations
sway in the wind.

Holding a fistful of fish
she prays to the corporeal
cockatiel, the bishops
and cardinals of dance halls,
theatres, and tambourines.

Night approaches –
birds fall from the sky
feathers and skeletons
beaks and claws,
a currency of flight
and no escape.

One Response to “WAITING FOR A SIGN by Michael Minassian”

  1. sue peters Says:

    Beautiful, Mike !

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