Dots Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Dots

Dots make my poems, dispersed
Connected, related and scattered
With the plane preparing to land
A bird calling a chick, informant.

Dots make my poems, for certain
Weather, court, law enforcement
And the spots of breeze in curtain
Dancing Arabic; E. E. Cummings.

Writing of parent, spacious images, clove:
“My father moved through dooms of love”

Dots make my poems when cold
When faded from the pages, old
Fallen with raindrop, snow wild
The early morning weather mild.

Dots make my poems on the crests
They drag the sea depths, in corals
Must appear, at shores’ great sands
And on the large stones; river bank.

Dots make my poems all the times
They take shape with radio signals.