—from a fragment by Sappho
The night: there is a blue thread
running from the sky’s
nude seam. We watched as the azul drooled
down
the broken lip of every
fountain. The night before: you bruised
your lip, cut
against the threshold
of your own teeth. You thought someone
was there beyond the stuffing
inside the boxes, thought you
discerned a flitting pair of moonless eyes,
pallid, an iota of waiting. You kept the string
tied to a callus lover, around his bare
torso. I placed a bit on my tongue,
handed you the bridle—
crop-lashed at the hip.
Every breath, the clouds
crumbled like feta in the briny water
where the wingtips of little stone
cherubs were still visible.
Among the liquid dust. Their music mute.
Tomorrow night: we are going
to trust where the arrow lands, & follow—
I thought: barefoot, because no matter
how small the wound
the stone cuts into our heels,
there will still be a scar
worth saving & you—a faith I need
to break.
(Source: pebblelakereview.com)
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