minty
 
this whole landing was in the sense of lit glass
the door the green readiness it once was
an unwoken christmas, its note the replenished third
I love but when I am gone this page intentionally
 
 
mountee
 
for the first time in six hundred years
the moats were full and the roads moats
spitting up flakes into the foam we waded
to tuneful chainsaws dinging
away through the jungle then clung, we did,
to your elbows and long forearms we
surfed out behind those elephant wings
 
 
the mentors
 
mouth after
shutter-up effulgent eye
they continue their feeding russian
aeroplane icecream to me
their child in beds with fur
and warm leaves electrical flash
broken through the wool
carried between their teeths,
could I whisper in their ears
& they become that to the hole
check for cents
 
 
minisher
 
tipping into a pool that doesn’t sound reception
or thirsting and including the settled mud & white sky,
lightning tipping over its extremest branches quickly
stone banks tucking into the far white crease (not
 
the little curlew
that stays out & drinks in,
the little curlew that stays
out of reach and drinks
up from the pool of
erratic fluorescent
& branches pulling down)
 
 
remonitor
 
springing in the japanese
chinese garden shock slips
a lizard to the lake, April
 

April sweating
over your own black thumb
with a penknife relieves the pressure
for the mothers dipping wax
in the lake’s softening good,
stretching out
the reflux and dismay
 

April April steal their books for something to go with codeine
April in the field of tent heat is orange
close hot & very much
I remember you

©Jen Crawford