By Alyssa Souza
Without dawn’s permission
All this town’s foliage
Withers
into intangible spindles:
Where we can hear the petrichor
As it dribbles from
Nimbus mouths
Into the creek; leaping, fevering,
Like a baby stirring in her sleep.
Without the fruit’s hope
All good done by
The sun’s immortal amber
Is overshadowed
By coldblooded ratsnakes’
Hungry endeavors
Bridging day into evening
Sinking heavy: dripping, shivering,
Like the last casing of the magazine.
