I Owe My Father the Earth as a Gift
I must dress the seas and land in bows of ribbon,
wrap up the happy family of the trees,
pass the mountains at the giving table,
spill into his pockets the reward of a stream,
shield his shoulders with a coat of grass,
and let the blades drip all down his body,
to never be cold without green again,
corner him in a place where the alcoves hide,
deepen his plate of bursting cherries,
tempt him with the moon dangling from a string,
like a ball of foil and so playful roll him the sun,
as an offer of magic reveal to him the fog,
make verse of a volcano until love overflows,
capture him in an island that paints alone a picture,
play him a song that haunts like a continent drifting.
Jason Visconti has attended both group and private poetry workshops. His work has appeared in various journals, including Literary Yard, California Quarterly, Valley Voices, Allegro Magazine and The American Journal of Poetry. He especially enjoys the poetry of Pablo Neruda and Billy Collins.
Thin Air Magazine 