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Two Poems  photo

Reverse Invocation 
 

To the god of thresholds: for is it not
tradition to call upon a deity

with a voice crackling like the lull
of aged leaves, of a petal shifted

by wind. To the goddess with many
faces: that of mouths on all sides,

of broken teeth: for is each being
not a fate unbounded, un-

plucked, not earthly possession: nectar
rushing between stones, un-

stripping of trees gnarled bare,
wrought skeleton. To the god of love

and the goddess of fury, for
are they not bound

by the same body: what
have you taken

that can not be made
whole again?

 

Untitled


A city darkening,
uncentered. We skid

to the shoulder, cars
kinetic under frost

beams. This is where
you tell me

you found love letters
in my bedroom

and you do not want me
like this. To our right: a heron

balanced on the barricade,
slumped so dull

I mistake it for a shadow.
Our left: a river that never

stops unfolding.
It has no mouth,

no current, no water.
Just stones.

 

image: Carabella Sands


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