Even as crow heads try out new cutlets . land
lock our viral curves, when next you pass through the air
fresh port ‒ call . context I shed to know
your guarantees.
Even as orange peelers loop . the shore lines
bouldered, soft furrowed island beds ‒ swim
back like sleek porpoise . renew the crystal, scrubs
on rock refine.
Which side now bests deception ? whose orifices
waive fees through fear belongings fold ‘n’ toss in drawers
hang basket bloomers peek < how our deliriums
hive . I wait for you.
I shift a little the patio chairs, conversations
over . come evening I look out the nets I check for bowls
fish angling ~ eels steam order run; inhibitors safe
pin love ~ nothing left clicks Confirmed.
Until . your fingers parting, our garden shade sun
bursts I keep . lotus bud leaf moment choosing.
– W.W.
QAT + MARA
But the seeds of both lion-weed and lamb-grass
Are older than their roots, as old as the need
Of Nature’s pollinator-satyrs to mask
Their bursting generosity with as many forms
And hybrids of artifice as might allay
The lust not just in their own loins but also
At the core of the Garden’s greenest rosebud.
*THEN, should artifice be the peak of Nature,
There is nothing odd – as it yet feels to both
Qat and Mara – to their fiction’s current form
Of ladies sitting in silence
(from “Charon’s Anchors” by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 