Sunday, August 19, 2007

part of a new poem by ballard

I’ve come to claim everything
is beautiful and if you wake to this
in the morning, as if someone has turned
the knob or allowed your retina to receive
more light, just a small millimeter
so that all the world is brighter somehow,
it seems, this could be the definition
of joy. Nothing has changed;
paint falls away from the yellow door,
weeds grow between the uneven slabs
of concrete and it breaks open
the place which once believed
in goodness or the clean face of god.
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Emily Lloyd said...

This is fantastic, Teresa.

early hours of sky said...

Okay you’re bias.

Pamela said...

I'm not, and I concur with Emily.

early hours of sky said...

thank you...

Amy Slykhuis said...

I love this poem, it is so beautiful. The slightest change in perspective can make such a difference.