Thursday, January 4, 2018

Hunter by Phillip B. Williams


Hunter

            When you were mine though not
mine at all permanently, just a body borrowed
without permission, a body interrupted,
interruptive—

                           the sky opened like a secret in a mouth

mouth with a word in it
   
word with an arrowhead in its flank: Love, small
creature it was
                                     crying in the night beneath me

 

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