No larger than a tiddly wink
it would leave only a mist,
land empty in a small cup.
Still, it claims our attention.
One winter a neighbor boy drowned
under the shrunken flat white disk;
often summers when nightfall
renders the sky all colors,
mirrors two worlds from one,
sun running over
I can still hear his mother say
she lives by that light.
by Diane Kendig
Read by Beth Adams — Download the MP3
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
As well confuse moths with mouths
as with these lips that chap to chrysalis.
Inside a milky saliva thickens.
At the end, no silky escape, but a storm:
Crack, a blood rain, and the mouths
stagger out. They stutter by day
and when they stop, purse themselves,
the rich silent type, unlike moths
which flutter by night and light open,
more generous relations,
willing to tell everyone.
by Diane Kendig
:: :: :: :: :: :: 
:: :: :: ::
Full content of posts (except for video and audio players) plus links to comments.
Get qarrtsiluni delivered straight to your inbox. Your privacy is guaranteed and your email address will not be used for spam.
