Hidden - Poetry by Ira Joe Fisher
Hidden
We’re too near a city
and our own town
powders night with light
hiding the stars we seek;
or should wish to.
Dim is a cruel word,
and gone, even crueler.
Light is kind
to farmer, to reader
but pin-pierced sparks
that stay (I’m told)
and glow to gold;
ought always be seen,
to comfort and send
an essence of sun
in small beams
that neither burn nor blind,
but (so I’m told),
only glow to gold.
Ira Joe Fisher
Email: irajoefisher@gmail.com
Phone: 203-912-1457
Hidden - Poetry by Ira Joe Fisher
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