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
are narrative creatures free of that mortal sin: imagination.
your careful breath on sunless greens
transforms the merely magical
into everyday spells of living.