Issue #10


Minus fifteen, the waves have stalled to ice

yet you skim the shore for the impending tide.

The snow-coated sand, seaweed still,

coiled in hieroglyphs, fish in suspended motion

air bubbles tucked in gaping mouths,

crab claws squirm to the bottom, further out.

You want to skate on the interstice

breath, speak, scream, silence

atoms wriggle in your lungs a panegyric pulse

rests beneath the sheet. Step out, respice finem

the shoreline does not shift.

With your skates tucked away in wardrobe layers

you do not speak.

Veronica Fibisan

© 2014