Fragment from Assisi

Because I heard the cockerel’s golden cry
Ring from the bottom of the silver olive glade,
Because he called the chapter of the noonday sun,
I shed the shackles my own hands had made.
Because the towers up and down the hill
Fired like beacons answering when they tolled the time,
Driving the white wrack of the winter orchard smoke,
I lost my fear between that chill and chime.

Meredith McCann

Meredith McCann is a poet and reviewer as well as the poetry editor of Dappled Things magazine. Her work has appeared in Presence and Able Muse, among others.

Previous
Previous

Villian, elle?

Next
Next

On A Written Day