Ellen Hinsey Poems

There, in the air--traceless blue--arena of circuits
And saunters, some rise with difficulty

'While others lift buoyant, tack of tail turned
...

Standing at the edge is the great Multitude.

They inch forward in their rags and hunger.
Their movement along the ground lifts
the sound of ancestral migrations.
...

There will be no deafening noise. No hornblow of thunder.

The small plants of the earth will not tremble on the hillside as grace is prepared.

The sky will neither drown us in its plenty, nor the ground crack and consume feet in its hunger.
...