Photo credit: Sharmagne Leland-St.John
by Michael Escoubas
Poetry bids us, look up
every once in a while.
Who would knowingly miss
this roiling sky, the combination
of colors, sun, and mist—
the way the world seems
to suspend itself in time—
everyone holds his breath
as if a diva is about to make
her grand entrance on stage.
Poets are all about their words—
but even wordsmiths know
that some things call for a reach
somewhere beyond the visible arc.
We are stunned by this moment
that, like Paul on Damascus Road,
shakes the soul to trembles—
intangible redemption, life washed clean.