Morgan Michaels Poems

with any but imagination's eye.
Yet nothing but a hawk it was
the hawk I saw just then-
and will probably see again
...

Nature cruelly tricked the human heart
with splendid feathers, well devised for flight
but feet denied it, by capricious Art
insuring that it never might alight
...

The thing was finally strapped down tight and quite asleep.
drip, drip, drip, from the bag, thru the tubing, under the skin-
dewy fluids and a rapid, sliding bubble, round first, then oblong,
How thru its medium it squeezed, salmon-like!
...

The season fails, her petals fly
little clouds now blot the sky
gone the promise in the leaves
plumbed all golden mysteries.
...

My youthful mornings overflowed with joy,
the nights with tears. But now the years
bring fraught with doubt the dawn of every day,
Blessed and blissful night's dark descent.
...

So I sat up and stared at the place the hawk had been-
rose, shuffled to the window, in fact
the Barrio was still the Barrio, in every respect:
the Projects not going anywhere fast,
...

Opera's ok
so far as it goes
but the real opera
everyone knows
...