Contributor: Jennifer Montgomery

- -
the husk of a home
papery layers like ash
wings are hushed, stone-still


after the rains
slip of mud on stone
unsteady


the memory lodged
like a bullet or a thorn
needing extraction


pain as sleeping limbs
a slight buzz then engulfing
as blood rushes back


a faint song
dust dances in light
walks old rooms


the mist rich, woolly
a stillness swallowing sounds
drinking bird call, time


her conduct pristine
on toe-tip, flitting, dancing
a brief smile, cordial


flushed cheeks
under the street lamp
a new play


- - -
"'There are no such things as synonyms! he practically shouted. Deluge is not the same as flood.'"