by Lucille Clifton
saw them glittering in the trees,
their quills erect among the leaves,
angels everywhere. we need new words
for what this is, this hunger entering our
loneliness like birds, stunning our eyes into rays
of hope. we need the flutter that can save
us, something that will swirl across the face
of what we have become and bring us grace.
back north, i sit again in my own home
dreaming of blake, searching the branches
for just one poem.
Lucille Clifton, “blake” from The Terrible Stories. BOA Editions Ltd, 1996. Suggested to the Humanities Institute by Professor Coleman Hutchinson, UT Department of English.