JOYCE MANSOURAttending to the Flood
I want to forge new routes in your body’s
Moon hills
Light fires in the hollows of your eyelids
Know how to speak to you and when to leave
In good time
I want to live slowly in the movement of your scenery
Float between mother and father
Like echo’s smile in shaded light
Undressed
Be the pillow’s spark
Heard by the deaf man who thinks he’s alone
Cannibal
I want despair to whet your lifted tongue
I want to be the lily on your light shadow
And lie down dazzled under the spider
Good night Iris
It’s time
—martin sorrell
Remember
Remember
The jolting flight of my heart
Your excitement
The way my hair ru∆es
When I laugh with you
The wind stu√ed with smells
Coming before my body aflame
The rubbery grey thickness of the winter evenings
When we heard the rats jingling around
Eating poppies
You and me.
—mary ann caws
The Storm Sketches a Silver Margin
The storm sketches a silver margin
In the sky
And bursts in a great sticky spasm
On the ground.
The floating foam