seamlessly knotting and running.
Days, decanted, spilling forth
praise, even as the sea floor
recoils,
remains intact. Turned
back dog-eared mornings.
Sifted hours holding fissures
of blue robin egg—the bright
faded robes of mystery plays.
Trestlework. Latticework.
Love perched inside
six-sided wax cells—
the kettle whistling like a train.
Tunnels tucked under
Atlantic Ave. Stone
from Manhattan. Brick
from the Hudson Valley.
Pale obedient faces
fading on Catacomb walls.
Fish bone glaring out
of a buried mackerel sky.
Finitus crumbling.
The scratched mirror
glass crying hilum:
even seeds bear scars.
Jenn Blair Campbell is from Yakima, WA. She received her PHD in Creative Writing and English from the University of Georgia in Athens where she currently teaches. She has published in The Tusculum Review, Copper Nickel, MELUS, SNR Review, and the Hamilton Stone Review. Her research interests include Victorian and Romantic Literature.
