|
|
Robin Behn Yellow House Isogloss
Lyric Year Everything a flower or a shout or sleep. Time glistening and skidding. The reasons glistening and skidding. A gull's cry or a child's or mine. All that seeking after. All that seeking, after. The deaths in the distance ground on, shells on a beach, sharp shells. I opened the ornate door to the meadow but not to the story of the meadow. Flowerbox sans box. I wasn't afraid of beauty and in fact wore beautiful things by which the meadow knew when I had passed that I had passed. A woman in the middle of a life, pebble in the middle of a sea. It is not the case that every one of us is a princess and every time we move an arm the great climatic shifts, coming floods and so forth. On my private planet the little umbrellas in the drinks just suddenly are there. read about the author |