a poem is a sermon
Our entire lifetime: a short line drawn in water; soon nothing remains. It doesn’t matter what ink or how much pressure you use. What seems important doesn’t leave an impression in time’s vast ocean. Each of us is a mirage; Not even wetness is real. 17 FEB 2025 © 2025, John Litzenberg. All rights reserved.
Why is the sky blue except from reflected water stretched between small bits of land? Why is water blue except its depths mirror skies above it, touching everything? 23 MAY 2017 © 2017, John Litzenberg. All rights reserved.
There’s something about a city on a river: it could be near the ocean’s coast stuck like a tick on the business end of the delta, or somewhere upstream where the supply ships send their soldiers, sorghum and saltpeter for distribution to the land-locked plains beyond. There’s something about a city on a river: it […]
Down at the end of river road the houses show off concrete knees, with skirts drawn just above the mud that creeps up through the Augustine beginning early June. Some rivers, when they start, seem nothing like their parent ocean’s genes; they use the drying distance from the shore while they’re still condensation hung from […]