In Light of Stars
Bruce Willard
Willard’s love of music combines with his love and respect for the natural world. Often rooted in, or coming out of, domestic encounters, the poems of this collection rise up (much like the clouds over his oft-traversed Rockies), as the speaker throws his attention to earth and sky, better to understand his own dynamic and shifting inner weather.
DRY
The sycamore leaves leathery,
flannelled one side,
a congregation of hands
across the lawn,
palms skyward,
waiting for rain.
The ground
is gunpowder;
anything
will set it off.
The Chinese say every storm
brings prosperity.
Six Septembers
our eyes have been dry,
red-lined, patient.
What becomes us
when the rains arrive?
