Beth Camp Historical Fiction

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

If . . .

If I truly understood nature,
I would say all is mathematics,
the deepest blue of morning glory
balanced at day's end,
a summer night so hot,
I long to add
my own rhetoric
to crickets' endless call,
all intricately connected
in smaller and smaller
until, as night falls still,
I see the stars
through heavy, humid trees.

This summer, access to internet is more than sporadic. I'm participating in Postcard Poetry, though, just for August, sending a poem a day out to people who've signed up. And we'll be in Atlantic City this weekend, ah, internet access for nearly three days straight!

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