Poem by Edith Mirick

Through Clearing Glass

In the April of my dreams
You beat silver insistence
On the clouded, murky pane
Of memory ...
And again
Through clearing glass I see
Each faintly tinted hour
We knew burgeon
Now vivid-hued to flower
Under the pale persistance
Of that rain.

1. Pins
2. Minotaur
3. Deirdre
4. Crooked Roads

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