738 Readings

Ovulating in an Attic that Overlooks Town

Anchorless my window and immanent the night.

I’m falling, but the floor rises.
We stumble, dance in variation. Could I,
I’d keep from knowing

that distillate of seascapes
dilate, waiting.

In the archipelago where whens, anywhats
maroon, I’m far drifting.

Encircle my waist with a strand of mercy.
Encircle my shadow, far-flung and crossing over.

Cold night, colder morning,
a hand extends, falters

holds the otherworld
figurined so blue.

The light, it fell inviolate
but gone.

Posted 02/22/11
Published in Fifth Wednesday Review Fall 2010
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