“Poetry is aimless, not purposeful. The poem is dancing with itself.”— Billy Collins
At that time
I saw further
into the roseate glow
at the edges of late hour clouds,
I was the watcher,
alert to the changing position
of fireflies, the changing heart.
I tasted stone mint—
heard minstrels sing and recite,
could dance a fine fan-dan-go.
Before time fell backward
fate emptied my arms.
I was free to hope, imagine, laugh.
In that brief time
I could see further.
Mary Louise Cox,
Poet Laureate of the Town and Village of Mamaroneck