This poem is taken from PN Review 230, Volume 42 Number 6, July - August 2016.
Two Poems
To my Seamstress
To me, the sun’s more seamstress than sovereign:
her cambered needle rushes on the wind
and stitches yellow lines on my room’s blind
or adds brown outlines to the cyclamen.
Her scissors yawn over loose ends on the lawn
and whet their limbs against the pine tree bole.
She tries new trimming angles on the corn,
...
To me, the sun’s more seamstress than sovereign:
her cambered needle rushes on the wind
and stitches yellow lines on my room’s blind
or adds brown outlines to the cyclamen.
Her scissors yawn over loose ends on the lawn
and whet their limbs against the pine tree bole.
She tries new trimming angles on the corn,
...
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