“In Italian, the word stanza means ‘room.’” – Doireann Ní Ghríofa, A Ghost in the Throat

So now I am building a room
that we walk through on our tour
of this house, the poem.

Different rooms have different
shapes, sizes, colors, purposes.

Sometimes we linger
to admire proportions or décor;
sometimes we hurry through
to reach the next room or just
get the whole thing over with.

Some houses are large, some are small.
Some are simple, some are elaborate.
Some require a guide, some feel like home.

But each has an entrance, particular
views, and places to sit
and reflect.

And here’s yesterday’s poem. (I think I’m wearing down a bit.)


Sycamore, how you get
so tall? You like a big
speckled snake, slithering
into the sky.