10.
There in the morning see
Your death cresting
The hilltops
Over trees whose buds were just beginning
To imagine breath
Am I to mourn this?
Your death
As promised to me as dreams
Your death touches what the light touches
And illuminates my life.
Condition
Coming by Nothing in earnest
curiosity
Possessing no cavity
but the want
a hole itself
The want
to fill and pave over
Not blind , but
Unseeing simple
bag of dust
stars
Cut open and dumped
out
And so bag no longer
What remains
is dirt and diamond
scattered
like the many mouths holding your name
It seems you’ll be carried into the cracks
corners and other countries of this world
where the soft pallet could not take you for granted
With faithful and patient repetition
a shape refined
and you
and you again
will appear
Where There is Smoke.
The residue of dream has narrowed my eyes
Waking
I smell
Burnt intention
It was there when you whispered
into my mouth
It was there when you pulled your head
back
Into your
little shell
In dreams your tenderness
feels warm
but your kiss
tastes like ashes.
Precious coward
The heat of truth destroyed you.
Lish Ciambrone is a poet, painter, and personal trainer living in Baltimore, Maryland. She is a winner of The Wormfarm Institute’s 2024 PassWords Contest. Find her work online in Rejected Lit Mag, Bruiser Mag, Peach Mag, and Yellow Arrow Press.
High Horse 