By Olivia L. Casey My scales too heavy now for me to rise.Scales jabbed tightly in my many achesBraided up in agony, I lie. I lift a wing and loose a weakened cryFor I have found a body too weak to wakeThe heavy scales I carry at sunrise. Anxious eyes…
by Liane St. Laurent and so the days become less golden. yielding to the weightof their august fruit, blackberry canes lean acutely angled. theyellow cat’s thirsty bones cry from under the forsythia and thewaning moon nods in agreement: soon. but right now there areno vacancies in this carnival of symmetries…