Lisp of Cloud

The fog, a flock, thickened the field.

Lisp of Cloud

The fog, a flock, thickened
the field. Steps
 
bereft of stepping’s stay.
So goes my trilled
 
bone’s shiver, more
release from land
 
than river. My hold
a sip of snow
 
caught in a crater.
I am new to you
 
in this light. In touch,
A garden blond
 
with wandering water.
I am scattered in
 
this exhale I imagine
as flight. Not dust or fact,
 
skin or dawn. This world
skews away,
 
limning. Branches
both shadow and spinning.
 
Leila Wilson

hundred-grasses

 

 

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Poem ©2013 Leila Wilson, all rights reserved, used by permission of the author and publisher Milkweed Editions. Film ©2013 Motionpoems, Inc., all rights reserved.

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