There’s nothing I can’t find under there.
by a. noelle
Voices in the trees, the missing pages
of the sea.
Everything but sleep.
And night is a river bridging
the speaking and listening banks,
a fortress, undefended and inviolate.
There’s nothing that won’t fit under it:
fountains clogged with mud and leaves,
the houses of my childhood.
“Pillow” (excerpt) by Li-Young Lee
A poet in every corner.