POOL 

a journal of poetry

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SIMONE MUENCH

Shadowgraphs    

"I'm like you, my dear"

A leafleteer of belle-lettres

A fan of lentissimo,  

doloroso.  

Leeks and lemon verbena.  

A funambulist with zero

visibility.

 

I'm blue sugar

on the lunar line. Iron

pyrite and diamondbacks.  

 

Luminescent,  

nascent.  A shell pink

shack.  I'm the lot

you draw, the hammock

where you sip elixirs

in exile. Where havalinas

forage the yard, tearing up

dogtooth violets.

 

A geography

of gypsum and hooves.

 

I'm like you, my dear.

Sugarcube, cuttlebone.

But you're a peach tree borer

and I'm a goldfinch watching you

funnel your way through my home.

 

Like virga you disappear

before I even reach your shadow.

Though you leave a residue,

 

texture of red

 

falling across the unsung

country of Arkansas . Light

like a woman's sleeve

sweeping over the field.

 

I'm like you, my dear. Just a little

too near the Scylla.   Sea-

level and singing

a cappella.

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