Issue #10


Our eyes on him,

Like a pendulum arched above its reach,

and tangled where the steeples breach

that blue Havana, that dreaming wanderer,

his torrential visions, a guttural tundra.

His tongue rolls in rasping waves beneath,

a twisted mouth and shivering teeth,

Breath softening the dirt on which he dreams,

A broken weight tossed, in white rustling sheets.

Harry Ellis Grewal

© 2014