Li Bo’s Wisdom

He tells of a letting go, with eyes
trained on broken blue sky

on the black filigree of leafless oaks
on wind whipping a tarpaulin

which covers a woodpile pressed
against the house

or a white door’s midday glare
and red-orange chimney stones

a quiet letting go
of soaring birds as they surge

a calm release of what you held
for so long in your bony hands:

dust melodies and curling smoke
and the hot, grilling scents of memory

a letting go without speeches
or bands or any hope

of returning when the world
spins, a letting go of water

as it winds down rocky paths
of waves gathering strength

shorelines breaking to reveal
deep gashes, fissures in the body of earth

Steve Klepetar’s work has appeared widely, and several of his poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Recent collections include My Son Writes a Report on the Warsaw Ghetto (Flutter Press) and Return of the Bride of Frankenstein (Kind of a Hurricane Press).

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