The Undertow Susan Firer |
Solar flares & Angelus bells, & the always bling bling waves a word enters the heliosheath (in 40,000 years it will reach the next nearest star). What small world have you thrown your allegiance to? Tanks of starboom, Saturn just south of the gibbous moon, the trees kneel in moonlight. Nothing means anything more than we need it to. Morning the old man on the cliff does Tai Chi with swords. Lake tutored birds fly in the mailslot. The wearaway of rock writes the world. The sky muscle drops sandhill cranes that coming down look like old men falling from invisible worlds. Winds polish fears, make them beautiful. Ice on the tongue of God. The gab of waves. |
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