ian berger

Freckled Girl

My daughter found silver in the creek bed; where
the water ran once, where the water swallows
heaven; my girl swears, my girl whispers, my girl
I nurse the faith of every daybreak that asks
me; I won’t tell you just how bright your
wings are in the daylight, in the creek bed,
above me
Where the sterling went, threadbare, with you, in
these freckled winds; I know this kind of autumn,
there’s morning in your teeth; you can come out
now, honey, I know you’re there

Tailwinds

I dig autumn from the hole in the backyard; taste the
liver spots on the daylight come through the kitchen
window; where I can see the green seep through,
down the river basin
I must have missed this kind of sun, these
clothes of hers—her cottons thin, her collars
frayed—when she passed through this way
last year
I waste now winds we know where they come to
me, only, softly; my father’s birds were buried in
my mother’s garden, and you’ll find me here, I
know it

Panasonic

And you take me very suddenly, very beautifully
out now where the blackbirds go; where the gods
flee in masses; where the valleys ease the old sun
down the green
Where the northwinds stretch upward,
outward over the continent; where grace,
stilled, retrieves of daylight it’s white
blankets; where we lay far in years now
from the madding crowd, together
Where lovers warm young suns, farther in messed
bedspreads; where the wind asks politely the
grasses give way; where the dandelions hear, what
the dandelions know
Where the county pranced itself of many
yellows; where the weeds prepare for
mornings like us; where these things do not
bother the house anymore
Where you take me very suddenly, very beautifully;
the kingdoms, the seas; these songs of us the wind
cries; where you ask to kiss me, where our tales
grow in these halls of ours; we’re in love in every
story ever written