-- The Miracle of Haze --

John Herlihy

I live with my poems

And they live with me.

They come to me one by one,

In shadows and light, a tree spun.

One moment they are not there,

They have still not yet been born.

Then they arrive with all their flare,

As if from some mystery torn.

When I awaken in the morning,

I haven’t got the faintest clue.

Sure, the glorious day is dawning,

As the sky deepens into cobalt blue.

I imagine, wonder, probe, inwardly gaze,

The poem is born in the miracle of haze.

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(c) John Herlihy 7 May 2019