Published in Spinning Jenny, 2010.

 

So you believe it’s possible to keep fish in open water,

as if by some miraculous twist of fate

you can catch and then keep hold of these

quicksilver blossoms. As if you can afford to wait while you

decide on their shapes and the color of their eyes

before you slice through their guts to quench your heart’s desire.

So you mistrust poetry and poets –

though not necessarily in that order. As if the constructs that

you assume

are narrative creatures free of that mortal sin: imagination.

And then:

your careful breath on sunless greens

transforms the merely magical

into everyday spells of living.