Heartless Wakingby Suzann KoleA spittle of low tide sticks rough to a beard of rock- my body wrapped around the new cold of morning pulls in breath of resignation as crows blacken the yellow air and shoulders of turf pulse hard bargains through a stiffened, somber wind. These days, terraced like fins, form a fragile shielding-- transparent around our lithe, aqueous bodies now occluded within the geometric hours when just last night, moon flattened its cheek against the lawn in a bleach of muslin-- iridescent with dew; while trees dissolved, then withdrew into a thirsting dark, before dawn's heartless waking. |