To Each , a Residence
by Ray Succre
Though ever cramped atop wise words,
the mind whistles under wiser ones,
and tells the consciousness to rat-out the
hours of magnetic regret, tell, infirmly,
and tells reside in broad places,
and spills its bitters over the heart,
then perched inside each repurcussion,
the rhyme of an act and a sadness.
For these good minds, bodies never
conjure breaths, yet do breathe,
and never conjure lives, but do live.
For these born minds, the call is to reside
at once, and look from windows,
and see where they, themselves, go.
Where finches fall and soon claim
wooden homes, where the caps of snakes
strafe for the calf, to each, a land,
to each, a residence.
BIO: Ray Succre publishes his poetry while trying to broaden himself as a poet and parent. He is now beginning to send his work out at a more social level. He tries hard.