Featured Poem: The Descent of Winter

The Descent of Winter by William Carlos Williams

9/30

There are no perfect waves—

Your writings are a sea

full of misspellings and

faulty sentences. Level. Troubled

A center distant from the land

touched by the wings

of nearly silent birds

that never seen to rest—

This is the sadness of the sea—

waves like words, all broken—

a sameness of lifting and falling mood.

I lean watching the detail

of brittle crest, the delicate

imperfect foam, yellow weed

one piece like another—

There is no hope— if not a coral

island slowly forming

to wait for birds to drop

the seeds will make it habitable

10/22

the brilliant field

of rainwet orange

blanketed

by the red grass

and oilgreen bayberry

the last yarrow

on the gutter

white by the sandy

rainwater

and a white birch

with yellow leaves

and few

and loosely hung

and a young dog

jumped out

of the old barrel

10/28

in this strong light

the leafless beechtree

shines like a cloud

it seems to glow

of itself

with a soft stript light

of love

over the brittle

grass

But there are

on second look

a few yellow leaves

still shaking

far apart

just one here one there

trembling vividly

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