← v13n1, Spring 2014Poetry · Volume 13, Number 1
Negative Peeled Back from a Cardboard Album
For a single moment,
soldiers don’t cross
the path. My eye
glare of water, of blind
surface, of skimming
a text. My eye
chooses three
overcoats hanging
from a wire.
They are brittle.
White shouldered.
Their path will be paper.
Wind attracts one,
turns a sleeve slightly.
Officers are sleeping
outside the frame. Outside,
the planes tick with heat.
There is a snake
bleeding out the mouth.
A hose leaking water.
Tongue to teeth, I feel
a question: slight, slighted—
