scratching at an image an inch beneath the ice of my chest
(First published in Heliosparrow.)
scratching at an image an inch beneath the ice of my chest
(First published in Heliosparrow.)
what would it sound like
to walk out on the sound
gulls chase
gulls for a bit
that sound
breathing
needles
so I hope for green
through the still black
door to see color to
burst into bloom into
color burst and burst
what thoughts I would have liked
putting them on a shelf or
but what would it sound like
opening my mouth the way
the white heron hides its neck
am I too late
do I keep
taking notes on sheets of ice
the worm pulling the strings. Over creaking ice, stumbling
the button we never
pressed fish under ice
starlings synchronize in salmon clouds over ice
searching for gods in the light of ice-covered trees
the ice wind inside. Having written the date I force myself
for to say something today at wholesale but what if even the right time cubes of ice fall I imitate the throat of one of the greats and greyer to a lumpy bed
under the moon ice crystals on the old black notebook
autumn leaves like me trapped under ice