V  P  R

Contemporary Poetry and Poetics





Having just sent seven drifting off, she stops
to catch the last one on the hot pink wand
then set it free again to see how it will end—
this time death by branch tip, an accident
of clumsy timing and an errant breeze.

She makes another: chin up, her eyes
slightly crossed as if awakened from a dream,
exhaling smooth and patient to watch
the way they whirl, oceans churning
on their own taut skin.
Hers is a delicacy only recently learned
and when she fills the empty circle again
she taps all her sadness on the dish rim
shaking off the last lullaby to finally float
skyward—she wants to be a minor god
peopling the world with nothing but
breath and Joy and other
slight significances.


© by Lynn Wagner


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