Poetry of Robert Fisher
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My son awakes from his long sleep and smiles
At the glen and its feathery waterfall flying over mossy rock,
At the delicate ferns, at the emerald green of lands
He read about as a boy, with knights and castles.
Everywhere birds of brilliant plumage dart among sunbeams.

Stepping back we see the glen is in a web of furrows on my face,
More like scars, more like valleys carved by suffering rivers.
This is how I carry my son through my days, the ones left to me.

Mixed with birdsong he hears poetry – that’s me reading to him.
Today I read about women singing as they row to their island.
I fill his ears with the music of words – Vallejo exiled in Paris
Singing about how he will die on a rainy April day –
He too never again saw his father.
A man stands up at dinner and wanders the world,
Another is young and describes his lover’s body as
The hills and ravines and forests of Earth.

I read to him so he may never question his paradise
And what came before.
I sleep when he sleeps,
And when he awakens I recite poems of heartbreak and ecstasy
To enchant him and lull him
As long as I have breath.

March 20th, 2016
Robert L. Fisher