The dreams with a hand hovering above
…..
the cold metal knob, stuck
core bits bore papery wind—
too late, too far to go back and the gray
comes once a day here and
the salt froth in the frozen
light is both a wave and a when
does motion become
when does emotion become
paper light at the end. A hiss of refilling
or sinking. Glass bottle
crashing the bin, the eyes are
the tender. Who can fault the fat
red chest of the cardinal, returning to find
the empty grate, remembering once
here there was feed.
….
This poem is from the chapbook sample.spring by Margaret LeMay (Finishing Line Press), and can be found at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/sample-spring-by-margaret-lemay/

Review, the North American Review, The Cortland Review, The Iowa Review and elsewhere. She teaches
poetry and creative writing at Coe College.