The sides of buildings crave the sky, so rock-shining glass
and steel ribs replicate upward, spearing through
lost arms of beckoning trees, foregoing the crush of car surf—
assured and creaking on bedrock earth.

Sometimes, they mean trust, and body. To trust in doubt: a small
rebellion.That's me, down in the weeds, saying so. Some days, the body
grows insensible. No poem, no meaning, penetrates.
It’s what grows, then dies that makes an impossible calculus. To

trust the fragmented day makes courage. Overhead,
high rises peak into where calm happens, where surges from city
avenues drift up to mute and forgetting. Still, bit by bit,
evening commutes to me this and that from the unrecovered day:

What unsaid, what doubted—spinoffs of the heart’s rough alchemy.
After the blue, to note the magic hour, when the light turns and
the horizon dips decisively to night. In the dark, boundless
and cheap, a button moon rolls along—meditative gem, howler’s song:

It’s so hard to change. I hold my thumb up before my eye, before
sleep, and can just press our moon—there between the oak crowns rocking—
make stars start streaming around us—at once strangers and friends,
at once incomplete, dreaming.

This is absolutely delightful - love each and every word!  Michelle

Enjoyed this very much too, Anna. One minor edit note: one of the pleasures was how choppy and yet conventionally grammatically it lopes along, so I was slightly miffed by the anomalous capital letters beginning the last 2 stanzas.
Anyway, a fine intro, welcome, look forward to reading more of your writing and seeing what you think of everybody else's. Tom

Very  good reading, Anna. Welcome to the site. I'll surely come back to this one.

Lots of surprises in the wording here.  It's like looking at a canvas in which every detail of a complex scene is preserved.  Welcome to the site!

Rick

thanks all-- seeing it up on a site always puts it into relief more. i change the line at the end about the oak crowns rocking to "sleep, and can just press our moon—there between the patterned blocks—"
because it seemed worthwhile to circle back to buildings.

Anna, this is a pick. Wonderful image in the control of langauge. You can make changes by clicking the 'modify' button under the original post. Welcome.

larry

Quirky and wonderful.  I read this twice silently, then, in an effort to pick out favorite areas and/or reasoning as to why I found wonder in it, I reread it aloud, twice.  I think it's the sounds and the balance you achieve between the concrete imagery and the surreal.  And I also think it's the way you've tapped into my imagination with certain particulars -- especially "That's me, down in the weeds, saying so." in S2 and then allow that "me" to "make stars start streaming around us" in the end stanza.

I look forward to reading more of your work!  Welcome!

lynn

welcome, and congrats!!!! 
this was a wonderful read.

tiko

Fantastic front page pick, Lady - love it -

excellent poem  - Michelle

Congrats, Anna! Tom

Great pick!

.

Great banner for this week. Congratulations for poem, and for pick.

milner