Greg Bachar

A Chime For His Ache

Painters almost captured its haze.
Dolphins sang sad songs about curiosity.

A terrible thing was said by someone in the back row.
The red velvet curtain fell through the stage.

At last there had been a breakthrough of encouragement,
little crowds of pale birds around the body.

Greg Bachar lives in Seattle, Washington. See his other poems this issue: Conduit and Be An Otter.

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