photo credit: plassen
Kathy Fagan
Amphorae
I bent to kiss her head
that smelled of coin
collection box in rain,
the kiss of my mouth the rain,
her head an iron grate once
Amphorae
I bent to kiss her head
that smelled of coin
collection box in rain,
the kiss of my mouth the rain,
her head an iron grate once
cradling fire. You see I was desperate
for meaning then, susceptible to suggestions
for escape, like thought bubbles
with birds inside them, a spatial disorientation of skin
sensors and the inner ear, capsules burning through
interstate 80 in any rainstorm, hamsters in wheels,
their singular purpose the freedom
they were not bred for.