By Chris Crittenden

maligned prophet

sensitive to swoops,

preferring a harp

and a symphony of silk,


orbit weaver,

what do you see,

sitting like Leo

in your horoscopes?


you cleanse spring

with silvery brooms

as jewels play, light of wing,

moon- and sun-drenched.


always too many,

brash and abundant,

like brief grapes

taxing airy vines.


and so you reap,

juggling bits of crystal,

a fast delicious show,

then solemn,


your throne blousing

in the sun


Chris Crittenden teaches environmental ethics for the University of Maine.  Much of his writing takes place in a hut in a spruce forest.  Some recent acceptances are from: Brink, Barnwood, Vox Humana and Yes, Poetry! He blogs as Owl Who Laughs.

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