Some nights in the house by the river, I walked out
into a collective dream of home—an overstory
overlooking a body of water
Anne Packard
Clarita Beyer
the sky inside her eyes, chlorine and glass.
I tithe to the darkness and I’m glad for the dark
two hours where I undo her, where I remember the eye
I indulged, the opposite of sacrifice, the lamb’s throat
uncut, the woolly body kindled in the green
like a dream of Lorca’s, betrayed in the telling.
the sky a paper life.
when I came back and found her bound in the sheets,
the opposite of spectacle, not absorbing the gaze but
giving off light like night water, giving back the gorgeous
I had inscribed there, a fallen form...
Heather Horton
Maurizio Quarello
Fernand Khnopff
Finally the whole body
The sky a gray whale, the sky magnanimous and cruel.
and not just its parts, wants to be unloved, beginning
The sky Purgatory Road, the sky a god mouth, a crow.
rick amor
Vitaliy Mashchenko
Katarzyna Celek
feral and essential, like a language lost, like night
illuminated by the night.
the sky six-thirty darkening.
a mirror of her hair—fixed or deranged
Sky of correspondences, the color of G minor, the taste of gray.
She thought, from the audience: I should be up there.
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Franz Sedlacek
The sky orchestra and karma, the sky Gold Bought and Sold.
The windows of the house I won’t live in held light
Eoin Mc Hugh
