Shapes in the Air
A poem by Carolyn Syrgley-Moore
Gardening, early autumn, I hear the crack of a root
as it surrenders
the earth, its realm in
the earth,
like torn knots of memory,
I am unable to pray, my tongue growing numb, my
fingers
begin drawing demon shapes in the air,
what mortality
cannot transform into ash,
the lure
of void, the indigent tenderness of a one-night stand,
sleep
imbues then eludes me, above me is
only
the weightlessness of fact, the tinny chime
of the town belfry, the scar tissue
that is our self in the end, romancing space,
a breathless
wait for consummation that is
brief, perhaps, yet all of time.
Fall 2006 Poetry:
READING HOPKINS IN PALOS VERDES
by Andrew Demcak
REFLECTIONS ON WRITING by Jann
Burner
THEY BUILT A WALL AROUND THE OCEAN
by Lily Bower
VISITING CAVE CREEK by Nicholas
Messenger
PUBLISHER'S NOTE and ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
by Benjamin Bucholz
THERE IT IS by Hannah Price
GEOMETRY AND A LETTER by Laura
McKee
SENEGALESE GROVE by Holly Day
AFRICA by Kathryn Wagner
DEFINITION OF A TREE by Christine
Hamm
AFTER MY NAME IS SPOKEN by Meridith
Gresher
SHAPES IN THE AIR by Carolyn
Syrgley-Moore
NEITHER FISSION NOR FUSION by Ed
Tato
CLEAVINGS by Hank Kalet
A PILGRIM'S PROGRESS by KC Wilder
WHAT YOU WOULD CALL A LOOSE GHAZAL, I
REGARD AS
ANOTHER SMALL, BUT NECESSARY, STEP TOWARD RECOVERY by James
R. Whitley
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