Enjoy this lovely poem by E. A. Lechleitner. Beth (E. A.) Lechleitner is a native of Fort Collins. She worked at Hewlett-Packard (and various spin-offs) for 14 years and has been a writing instructor at Colorado State University for many years. This poem is from The Writing Lab collection, Begin with Leaves
Veronica Patterson, Loveland’s first Poet Laureate is connecting Live Loveland with local poets and we will be sharing their work throughout 2019. Tell us which local writers you’re reading by tagging us with #livelovelandpoetryon social media.
After a Painting by Marc Chagall
She turns from him,
sometimes, towards dawn,
and settles back against the cup of his body
as though she were warm water waiting to be sipped.
His arm reaches along the length of hers, seeking
her softly fisted hand to cap with his own
as if it were a newel post and he, descending a stair.
Thus nested, they will, sometimes,
rise up to the ceiling, through the attic, out the roof
and float over the town
towards dawn.
Dropping thoughts into chimneys,
freeing kites from the tangling fingers of trees,
cutting along the edge of properties
they know so well from the ground.
In the gray still life between the moon already gone and the sun just promising the horizon,
they cast no shadow
to pull an old man’s attention from the ground,
huddled as he is around the warmth of his own heart,
the only hearth he has against the night.
Later, towards dawn, she wakes.
Sometimes
on the other side of him.
Her cheeks still cool from dreaming,
she pulls pieces of cloud from his hair.
E. A. Lechleitner
From The Writing Lab collection, Begin with Leaves