It’s night now, and a wrist
Turns over in the magnificent leaves.
Nothing but shadows, incalculable fortunes
Trailing along the arteries like slim beaks,
Like rivers black as comets.
In the hush, even the dragonflies
Fade into a glass-eyed sleep.
Their misplaced bodies fall
Through the green air
And enter the moonlit water.
They would drown there
Were it not for the immense buoyancy
Of their dreams, their little flickering wings
That spark like flintstones.
They would drown there
Were it not for the wrist
Turning over in the windfall. The wrist,
And then that giant, magnanimous palm.
Seth Jani
Seth Jani currently resides in Seattle, WA and is the founder of Seven CirclePress (www.sevencirclepress.com). His own work has been published widely in such places as Abyss & Apex, The Chiron Review, The Hamilton Stone Review, Hawai`i Pacific Review, VAYAVYA, Gravel, and Zetetic: A Record of Unusual Inquiry. More about him and his work can be found at www.sethjani.com.
Artwork: Alex Kirzhner, Flowers Where Fingers Used to Be
Website: http://www.newshadeofblack.com/
Website: http://www.newshadeofblack.com/
Gingerbread House Lit Mag 