Denise Hyam
Who can dance
No reason to
Saw the swing leashed to the cleft moon.
The trees tangled
Along the river.
Sundown. All the birds
Shaken from the fairy’s hair.
White. At night it pours.
Bareskinned in the bottle
The stork
Blunts its blue beak.
Her figged nest
Full of faces.
High beam, the liner’s lights
Shooting rays at the seagulls’ heads.
Page(s) 102
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