Poem: The Source | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Hudson Valley; Chronogram
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Poem: The Source 

I won’t tell you my name,
but I’ll show you how angels’ wings look
underwater: momentous, effortful, doomed.

I can give you coins if you need some.
Don’t keep them near your heart
or you’ll come to love them,

and you can’t love them
because you’re going to need them
for things: elevation, commerce,

the carnival machine that tells fortunes.
Spend them on glistening.
Spend them on certainty. Throw them

into a deep pool orange
with hot-tempered fish. Try not to hit
the angels. Do not presume to wish.

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