October 07, 2007


No poem stalks me
so I start the chase: Eavesdrop
on children, walk abandoned houses,
wear my uncle's sweatshirt, read
Newsweek backwards.
In exhaustion I surrender
to the suction of sleep.
Whispering together
in the rafters above me,
crystal-bright sestinas
drift down like snowflakes,
giggle on contact,
then dissolve.

—Shoshauna Shy

Posted by dwaber at October 7, 2007 01:49 PM