I composed the following tribute poem from whole lines found in the original poetry by Firestone Feinberg, exquisite poet and editor of Verse-Virtual.
“A word is but a silhouette― / It says a part but not the whole― / And, too, a shadow― given name― / Denies description of a soul.” –F. Feinberg
a few words
despite the sad stillness of the moment.
I’ll make a paper airplane—
exhausted by the weather,
the distance in the room,
and the silence of the watercolor sky.
Not dark nor drear, but luminous.
A day unlike another, this
when talk is out of place . . .
To make—that makes any sense.
You’re living or you’re dead—
part of the furniture,
built of common wood,
looking at the floor
as if there were no walls
and home is still somewhere.
Some say it is a wilderness—
perfect selfishness. The daffodils do their
yellow, blue, and red
to alter your identity.
By ear or by wind, the willows wear their
honesty free from false art.
No doubt there is some truth in the garden—
Every apple takes you home.
–a cento found poem by Trish Hopkinson