Eleven Lines From Nowhere

The void was a unit of darkness, our bodies an instant, a clap.

By and by the water shook, no, trembled, on the verge of tears.

The leaves had no destination.

My face doesn’t tell the time, but everything was cornered, like a lawn.

To the left, a deliberate flaw, to the right, a bent flower,

I’ve found what I was looking for.

Tree-diagrams helped explain the forest:

Her eyes, longing over the couch,

And her hands, Their beautiful dexterity didn’t tell the time.

She left trailing the scent of mimosa, mimos. . .

Summer’s salt-laden mist was turning to tears as we spoke.

by Cath Vidler

published in Concelebratory Shoehorn Review

*previously published in Turbine ’06

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