Kathleen Maris


your lexicon: trees.
the doe exposed.
white white on the birch.
my hair: paper bark: you tie with.
hiking topless is a thing?
home is not a place is not a
place is a japanese red snapper:
chrysanthemum mouth:
swallowed wedding quahog shells.
i dream about a sink: deep basin.
legs merely sticks of sorts.

*

with honeysuckle hands: coffee: milk.
come. dress yourself in clouds against the minus.
the sun: shadowing everything.
we track each other. two bigfoots in snow.
the myth of ourselves extincting toward
milkweed pods: unburst: two sparrows.
wind hustles the frozen algae pond like a prayer.

*


i swallow accents: chameleon ways.
grief is expected when it comes from a woman.
notice: salt marsh grasses emerge from the tide.
over the wind, i strain to hear. is it congress?
or a skein of geese? what a fine congress geese would make.
down here in our separateness, it is dangerous.
until now, i had not touched my strength.

*

<___>

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