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I stumble over the stone angel’s song,
ply her ever-open mouth with tempered
heresy and blushing wit. I lack wings,
have a knack for ascent, how to hover.
I relish belief in an unheard song
and try to refuse to bargain, tempered
by doubt. The lake blues in the wake of wings.
I almost see. This is how I hover,
poised at the bank in a vestige of song.
I listen to the absence. Doubt’s tempered
when faith enjoys its fetters. No, not wings.
A pair of feet--mine--stand where I hover.
Carrie Etter, an American expatriate resident in London, received her MFA from the University of California, Irvine in 1997 and her Ph.D. from the same institution in 2003. Her poems have appeared in various publications, including Barrow Street, The New Republic, Seneca Review, and The Times Literary Supplement.
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