Volume 5, Issue 1 (Spring 2002), Masque Magazine

August

I.

A woman,
realizing her swimming
is water-less,
recalls a hillside
covered in honeysuckle
the first time
she watched her eyebrow
climb a blade of grass—
her sigh tickling awake
the golden stubble
on the chin of the lake.

II.

A songwriter
pulls four fingers away
from six strings, like
setting down a glass—
this song's heart
his heart's song,
thinking her alive and
eating him out loud—
curve of her pinky
at the tea party
of every stanza.

III.

A thousand
light daggers fuse
to one point
as sun commits
its daily suicide—
the man watching
wanting to sink slowly
between two dark hills
until he disappears;
instead: his life
a glass of pink lemonade
spilt burning across the sky.