Glass Poetry Press

Volume Six Issue Two

Stephen Mead


Waves ebb, stretch ice floes to islands Windless enough for a walk. I pick driftwood here in the melt Of a hundred tundra, the glacial rage Of passion's debris. Magma is at the heart, a sore Aortic core, but memory frees healing. These wings spread & shake Gentle ruffles in the chill Finding each quill a feathery message Of warmth. Taste spring streams to recollect days As building nests, that straw, this twig, With world enough & time … I unearth my hands again, find the pulse & life all a solstice dreaming horizons. I can love you still from Halicarnassus, The crypt of soul multitudes in the ageless Toss of restless wrestling. Now they know ease, these pylons sighted: A door. Look out. Breathe. There are steps to take yet On water like Jesus finding far stars coming closer As cups cast upon the tides … Yes, life is bigger, better than we knew, a miracle At this departure point of magnet poles On destiny's sure shores.