Air out the linens, unlatch the shutters on the eastern side, and maybe find that deck of Bicycle cards lost near the sofa. Or maybe walk around and look out the back windows first. I hear the view's magnificent: old silent pines leading down to the lakeside, layer upon layer of magnificent light. Should you be
In 2012, Sydney Lea was appointed state poet laureate of Vermont. Lea is the author of several poetry collections, including Young of the Year (Four Way Books, 2011); Ghost Pain (Sarabande Books, 2005); Pursuit of a Wound (University of Illinois Press, 2000); and To the Bone: New and Selected Poems (University of Illinois Press, 1996), among others.
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Not for all the whiskey in heaven Not for all the flies in Vermont Not for all the tears in the basement Not for a million trips to Mars Not if you paid me in diamonds Not if you paid me in pearls Not if you gave me your pinky ring Not if you gave me your curls Not for all the fire in hell Not for all the blue
The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.