ISSUE: Winter 2001
A wind through the vowels crashes in c
as in Pacific,
the white of the teeth in rows
as the mouth says the rows of houses,
the lemon trees in mist synonym
for the moon, for the reflected light
of language itself.
The road’s curve is the curve of the sea prehistoric.
The turn inland to inward the beginning of continent,
a whisper of horses through the plainsong of mind,
a bear path up through coyote howl
to a mammal naming of the stars.
