Fall Morning in Central Park Tendrils of morning light spill from scarlet tree limbs their glittery haze drapes like a king’s cape, coaxing you
By Isabel Keletiabout a year ago in Poets
if you walk past, you’ll see in the garden red roses abloom • perhaps, I think, they are you • because when frost’s fade comes,
By Isabel Keleti2 years ago in Poets
In my sleep, I hear gunshots • and awaken with a darting chest-feeling to fat raindrops smacking metal rooftops • Just yesterday
Red Roses Bloom • if you walk past, you’ll see in the garden red roses abloom • perhaps, I think, they are you • because when
Sheltered alone in a cabin colorless and spare as daydreams waft in, light as air • I breathe the rush of spring green stretched across open
Náměstí Svobody, Freedom of time — rhythm, meter, rhyme separates the American from what in Moravia has become mine • I sit, as fallen cherry blossoms
The only thing left connecting you to me is a small green dot which sometimes glows on an outdated photo of your earnest grin
“Dandelion” (For my sweet kitty, Little Leo) A fluff-whiskered dandelion brushes against my knees as simple as a seedling dream,
After one year’s rest in a solitary chapel tucked far away in Bohemian countryside— I find all light glows through stained glass windows,
I venture to a coastal town to escape the desolate rain I find my former seaside haven, now, inexplicably, an icy plane
Six months and I still reminisce over those gorgeous empire cakes— inhale and they all disappear like memories blown from a window sill, where
For every piano key pressed the floor gives way to fallen rose petals, floating like feather-light droplets from figmented clouds, muting
By Isabel Keleti3 years ago in Poets