Poetry by Beth Copeland

           ​Fred Postles CC



​I Dream I Have a Hole in My Hand


Not an exit wound or stigmata but a porthole. 
Holding my hand over my eye, I see the mountain 
framed in a rose window of vanished bone. 

The opening is both telescope and microscope.  
I see stars up close and magnified cells of blood 
floating like lifesavers down a river of light. 

The hole is a halo around each broken stone, 
each wing feathered with ice, each holy leaf limned 
with gold in God’s infinite eye.

​

Beth Copeland is the author of three full-length poetry books: Blue Honey, recipient of the 2017 Dogfish Head Poetry Prize; Transcendental Telemarketer; and Traveling through Glass, recipient of the 1999 Bright Hill Press Poetry Book Award. She owns and operates Tiny Cabin, Big Ideas™, a residency for writers.

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