Sonia Greenfield

Illumination



Twilight elongates:    Smooth,
Barbed at the ends.
You squint against
the nimbus shimmer
Of expanding nightó      
                             Recalescence.
Eyes widen now.
Essence of perhapses,  Scents that twitter,  Chirping swallows.
Flavors laden on heavy air
Edging something like                          
Barn owls.

(A hint:
as if in darkness
the dim beam
would catch
the shard
of glass.)

Stirring wings that stir                Hidden pools  
Long since settled.
And there...
(Hold your breath...)
Is the mirage to be savored,            
But quick
For it dissolves in the stream
Of your            
                    exhale.



from Bodies of Water

VIII.

Someone asked why my body is always turning up in poems and I 
reply that I am saving myself from sacrifice through a 
figurative feeding of my parts. I say, we are washing up on 
shore regularly, girls tossed upon the sand by every ocean- or 
upon the muddy bank by the side of a river which carries scores 
of us in its currents, sometimes whole, sometimes not. Recently 
we received another torso from the waves. This gift from the 
waters is waiting to be claimed or at least identified. She 
would not be so forlorn if someone would come and get her with 
her sapphire stud in one ear and her little silver hoop in the 
other. Oh magicians, is this what you do with the women you saw 
in half? Can someone tell me where are the reports?  Girls 
tangled in the reeds by the sides of a lake. Girls fished out of 
the bay behind a waterfront restaurant.




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