Amy Trussell





Oil beads up on water when you pour it on
Like agate dots or planets
Humming out from the black core
You search for an arrow made of rocks

Here in the Mediterranean it is already night
And wings come down through stung flowers
Of a chestnut tree
And there you are, marooned in a village
With the electricity out
And a curry comb in one hand
And the other on the horse’s flank

Suddenly the sky is mobbed with stars
And rare bats seeping into the air
To pollinate the forest
The moon climbs the hazel tree in a helmet
Leaving its physics behind it
You are nearly leveled with its wheeling
From a shaky balcony
And confluence of dreams in your brain

Reach out to decipher the Braille texts of trunks
Roots in the sand
In search of a deeper moisture
Ornate insects perched on a brush pile
Waiting to burn
You’re waiting for a see-through universe
To slide through your fingers
Spread in sky paint.


Copyright © 2004 Amy Trussell.  All Rights Reserved.


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