Bernie McCann's Blog (2)

I had come to rest on the grass

tilting a painted fan to cool me

only the grass knows I am here

and the thin mustard sunlight

peeking from behind buttermilk clouds



Had it rained?

I felt nothing but my damp palms

raised above my head



Now and again I notice

shiny leaves floating on the pond

should I go in naked

on such a day as this

when only the branches and leaves

peer down at me?



There is no sign of decay… Continue

Annie

by Bernie McCann

She isn't gone so much

from this room as from heaven



where tea leaves

settled at the bottom of a cup

await her skillful translations.



On this early Sunday morning

the Spanish Chapel beckons



and neat as she can

she makes her way through spring gardens



to…

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