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Crooked Light

I love you, December,

your dusks iodine

as tea that scolds the water.

Your sickle glimpses,

grouted hemlock, hollies,

satin-black at evening,

wincing in mid-day’s

cracked, cutlery glare.

I drink your ending,

ice of childhood, pond

thick as my waist but condensed

as seed, secret in a waiting place.

Skating, skating against sadness,

I suckle you, Paradise.

Yearn for me. Bent & bird-ricked,

be a fiction I believe.

from OrexiaFind it in the library

Copyright © Persea Books 2017
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Persea Books.

Published in Lisa Russ Spaar Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.

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