A Poem by Pansy Maurer-Alvarez


I like this Byzantine red collision that ruins my nightly
gales, my high seas      It’s a signature of myself
It flows from a birthplace, a horoscope increasingly major
An imagined Roman afternoon green of sound
A universe inverted where strangers compose a race –
they beckon to me disguised as doves combing their feathers

My orientation takes a turn and urges daybreak
I enter the celebration of the red cloth, the poem’s brim
A tympani roll of thunder surprises winter’s unclasping
The arrival of snow shivers and splashes thick
A pinch of color is a slippery detail
The rest is a white emphasis modified by sparse genuine willing
Sensuousness is a bountiful, fluent perception –
the palest infancy, a figurative bell somewhere ragged

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