Song to exhale through gauze

A loon on the lake: its call a shadow
that follows. And it’s rained again

—this time the light drizzle
reminds me of rice grains. Driving

through the city, delirious afternoons
at the very beginning of summer: see

islands floating above stones. Coming in
from the glare, sometimes I wish I could fold

myself into a square of cloth along with
a sprig of lavender, a leaf of mint.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Utopian.

Leave a Reply