(Actually a damselfly. You can tell by the wings.) |
Tony Hoagland might be my favorite living poet.
Field Guide
Tony Hoagland (1953 – )
Once, in the cool blue middle of a lake,
up to my neck in that most precious element of all,
I found a pale-gray, curled-upwards pigeon feather
floating on the tension of the water
at the very instant when a dragonfly,
like a blue-green iridescent bobby pin,
hovered over it, then lit, and rested.
That's all.
I mention this in the same way
that I fold the corner of a page
in certain library books,
so that the next reader will know
where to look for the good parts.
I mostly only find imagist poetry readable. So thanks!
ReplyDeleteCool! Happy you like it.
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