Search Suzanne Crone
Posted in Poetry
Why is it that Aaron Copland's Appalachian Spring can leave me sitting, weeping on my kitchen floor?
I seem to find, though wonders great, I cannot solve, fall short my thoughts,
I missed my chance. The ship has left. The horse is gone. The horse is gone.
If the moon had arms...
Then you'll find your place - as you move with grace,
Taking comfort in - that skin.
Breathed it in while it wrapped around me;
In the silence tucked between winter gusts...
Hang on. Hang on tight.
The evenings of crickets and porch-light moths are on their way;
It's nothing small. It means the world; relief and zest,
Through all of this adventure comes opportunity,
I can hold open the loose fence board and follow you through