by Robert S. King
The lost wind arrives at a place in the forest
where lightning bugs and moonbeams
tie all ages of trees together
in a rustle of leaves and silken light
that answer the owl's ancient question.
Here the invisible and the blind have visions,
drink holy water rained from a clearer world.
Here the hardest stones warm and beat like hearts.
Old lovers find their way here,
intoxicated by the wine of hope.
Their kisses leave small glowing moons
on souls born in total darkness,
whose eyes adjust at last
to the possibilities of brilliance,
and even the dead dance
in this living light.
Robert S. King lives in Athens, GA, where he serves on the board of FutureCycle Press and edits the literary journal Good Works Review. His poems have appeared in hundreds of magazines, including Atlanta Review, California Quarterly, Chariton Review, Hollins Critic, Kenyon Review, Main Street Rag, Midwest Quarterly, Negative Capability, Southern Poetry Review, and Spoon River Poetry Review. He has published eight poetry collections, most recently Diary of the Last Person on Earth (Sybaritic Press 2014) and Developing a Photograph of God (Glass Lyre Press, 2014). His personal website is www.robertsking.info.