Tag Archives: William Rush

For a First Birthday

by William Rush

When you are ten
I may not still be here
though you will find remembrances
deep-hidden in a drawer

poems (this one for sure)
and my grandfather’s watch
meant for a waist-coat pocket
and never used             though
sometimes taken out and laid
across my palm

and a lost presence mixing
with the cedared air
to bless your unblemished skin
and wide-opening eyes


I turn off the light, knowing the house all the way through, preferring it that way sometimes

(Jeff Oaks, Even in Pittsburgh)
by William Rush

Along the hall
I feel for the familiar –
this picture frame –

surely it’s the Hiroshige
pine-edged, blossomed,
with parasolled procession

I follow then
to whatever lake or temple
is destination

touch each rock
moss- coated, velvet
to my blind hand

hear the tumble
of mountain water
the cry of cranes

How gentle is this
black universe which
leads me where

I had not thought to go