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A weekly poem, read by the author.
July 23 2003 12:11 PM


Listen to Ellen Wehle reading this poem. Laugh if you want, when the fortune teller told me to "take a new road" I took her at her word, turned a block from home and found it waiting: gabled night, the secret trees spilling darkness around streetlights, blown roses singing hosannas over a fence.

Don't get me wrong, nothing was solved.

I walked, a cat cried at my passing,
grave old oaks
watched. I knew myself
not. Say, How can we help it—this waterwheel
of our days, each day a bucket
bound in copper rings and dripping, each
bucket a hand, cupping sky?
Who knows what


I knew. Moon open as a gate.