Poetry on Wings

by Erin Donahoe

They say you are the source,
(nay, they say you created the source,
and isn't that the same?)
of my inspiration.
The water of the Hippocrene
flows through my veins
spilling through my fingers,
staining the white of paper,
the white of screen,
with a splash of color which is more
than mere blood.
And if the water of the Hippocrene
flows through my veins
doesn't that mean I have
your hoofmarks
on my soul?

Copyright © 2003, Erin Donahoe

by Johann Bayer

Erin Donahoe makes her home in the mists of Appalachia, near the river of the falling banks. A leprechaun once told her that all the secrets of the world can be found at the bottom of a pint of Harp, and she intends to keep drinking until she discovers them. To read more work by her, please visit her web site.

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Image courtesy of the U.S. Naval Observatory Library