Poetry 2014 / Volume 45

(and Jump out) — Elena Botts

once i open the window (and jump out), i am a real body and nothing
more or less, the stars summoning darkness
and folding it gradually between them
i must have abandoned love to the ocean (there was
no other option), mailed my
soul to the wrong address, regardless
the sun outlines the sky in terrible
light before bowing to its pale shadow,
that brother, moon. i imagine you
in the alien hours of your life, humming
with inaudible dreams, reams and reams
of silence gracing your bones but
coming undone somewhere around those
wild rosy eyes, like unlit mountainous skies.
it’s strange to think of you like after
forest fires, waning and crippled, the shivering
as though an endless all-consuming
ghost of fire embraced birches, you
held me long past my lifetime, as though
we were becoming, oh
i don’t know.

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