by Gloria Keeley


I sank a kayak

to watch it drown

not nice, I know

but I needed the equation


I think of ways to complicate my problems

out of dreams, stars glimmer in ballet

bones of the moon dance

this is how I predict the weather


in the back garden

the last eyes of aged potatoes

catch visions of garden arbors

the climbing plants green and young


I reach for memories

like rings on a carousel

my light is urgent in the morning

dark when mourning


black branches claw purple

hold the white moths of trance 

while catching prisms


flies rub their legs on the leaves

electricity discharged, scattered into 

guitars of cut-glass strings

that bolt through the night


the whales, now stressless

while galaxies shine

over blues men and wild nights

boneless mussels smoke

beneath the moon