Author: Lisa Marie

Aurora

I work to the tune of your aurora.

The floor wears away imperceptibly

as a woman whose dreams have

been munched by the wolf in her words.

The tundra of my inexperience thaws.

On the know-it-all breeze,

laughter that grips my heart

like a hand.

When the pollen heard you weep,

you were sainted by the grass.

Your greens, your purples.

Your lilting light that

whips through my space

like remorse.

Your song is dangerous,

damaging.

January

In the January flame everything

curls to the core to cure the cold.

The drool from your chin gleams

like seraphim.

When you became a hunting dog

in an incomparable cage,

I rose above the earth

like a nuclear cloud.

You’ve been hungry for so long,

my flowers asleep in their

bulbs dream of you as soil,

as a rain of blood.

Gnaw the chain link

and drop yourself as a wind

into the cold.

January burns like a wild

thing on the run.