From downstairs comes an overload
of lies and suppositions
out of Washington. I shut the door
and open up a book of poems
that chip and twitter like hard-
luck sparrows. And underneath
that harmonic line, I tune
in Rodrigo, who plaints guitar
to sing of places no gentler
by the blood that bears us, lung
to brain and hungers. And yet,
more beautiful than this evening’s
news, an elegy of strings.
Copyright © Taylor Graham | Year Posted 2006
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.