The rabid zephyr that recoils from us both,
must know something of love that we do not,
when from across the curling streets of this small town
it whistles to me the tangerine tunes
of peaceful pockets bursting at our touch.
At the furling lip of this tapered hemisphere
sits the wet and heavy tongue of stagnant ponds
the quiet rims of ocean landings
where seaweed shackles coil about our ankles
and pull us under that we may listen
to the stereo sounds of the quivering deep.
The gale that wraps its scarves of salt about our arms
Unbinds us only as the skin begins to split
at fragile seams where worms of doubt have made their beds
and tears of heavy leaves begin to seep into our sores.
The patient wind awaits the inevitable thunder
that carves a hole of space across our skies
That it might wind its way into our leaking hearts
and lay there rows of egg and seed
from distant and mysterious flowers.
You and I both know how this begins,
with currents cold of melting ice
and moisture howling through the grass
In one fell breath the tempest rests
and leaves behind its trail of glass.
About the Poet
Camille Louise writes and teaches in the Ninth Ward of New Orleans, Louisiana. She is young enough to get mistaken for a student, but old enough to have a favorite kitchen knife. She writes a lot and shares very little- but is working on it. She loves language and speaks a handful of them. One day she will make up her own.
For the first time in nearly five years, Vita Brevis is closed for submission. Read the full story here.