|
||
YOU COULD CALL IT A DUET Isabelle Shepherd
|
after Richard Siken Eventually birds must land, but What else is there to do? His hands Wind blows to make a truth, to say, of the silenced air? What of thin clouds violins are for. And yes, a moon thrown Cue want. Cue everyone wanting— to do something to the landscape, This entry into winter: his mouth between breath. The way frost is made descending. I've loved like water, I wanted. To be a season, to be I never asked for flight, for burning, onto the windowsill, if his hands This is a body caught between but it doesn't matter. This, a little Clean sheets, a little glass of water— keep turning into birds, into wings it shouldn't matter. It sounds like
__ This poem began by flipping “Unfinished Duet” by Richard Siken. Because Siken is good flipped, also diagonal, also blended with lemon and kale juice and a little ginger. |