Three poems by ​Martin Willitts Jr

When Day Breaks and Recovers

He lip-read each individual snowflake’s message.

He had to trust he was in tune,

his memory-fingers finding the right key.

He knew all music depended upon air

or is snuffed out like candle flame.

The blue winter light chattered like birds,

and banged on the keyboards

with stanzas of harshness.

Sleet tapped like a metronome.

The wind bellowed like exiting geese.

In the Evening

The effervescent sunset breathes into the lull,

changing fire into solace —

a kiss of purpling skies

just before the forecast of night reminds us

of impermanence.

This world is held together by loose threads.

A shake of rain sprinkles like flour.

The sky was once blueberry, now turned plum.

Darkness slurs onto the scene, liquid

and unforgiving. A troche of stars reveals

their ripe syllables of language

with guiding lights for circumnavigation.

Night becomes more certain of its darkness,

a mixture of phlox and foxglove.

The night tells us to quiet our mind,

let peace coast outwards

like water rippling with peepers’ serenades.

A dragonfly crosses the pond like a spirit,

like the breath we make while sleeping.