The Wide World

Moses in the bulrushes, lost, the clouds
a whirligig above him. The entire
world so far, its gyre
unbearable, sickens him, and a small crowd
peers down gawking when he comes to rest
wedged in the weeds somewhere far from home
and is cradled lovingly in the arm
of a daughter of a despot dressed
in bracelets that make a familiar sort of music
to a baby. Like the memory
of a memory in an adult,
who remembers bells, and a cobalt
sky, and that the air was summery,
and that all of it would change before he grew used to it.

Steve Kronen
Splendor
BOA Editions, Ltd.

Copyright © 2006 by Steve Kronen.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.

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